


Watch Me Burn

by Incog_Ninja



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rough Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Incog_Ninja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl Dixon/Faith Lehane multi-chap, S3 AU. Daryl believes in blood-sucking dogs and dead people walking around—and vampire slayers. After meeting Faith and Vi in the woods and taking them back to the prison, he gets to see the legend with his own eyes. But at what cost?<br/>(Set post-Chosen (BTVS), post-Not Fade Away (Angel), and post-Hounded (TWD). No Michonne or Woodbury—no Andrea, either. Possibly some BTVS/Angel characters (e.g. Angel, Giles, Buffy, Spike) may be seen in flashbacks.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Thanks for joining me! I'm really excited to share this journey with you, and I hope you enjoy it. There will eventually be something approaching romance (meaning sex and friendship) but it'll be a couple chapters. Over all, this should be about 10 chapters.
> 
> Disclaimer: All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.

Faith hears him before she sees him—not that he's loud or careless, just the opposite, but slayer senses are heightened, especially deep in the woods during a zombie apocalypse.

As he comes into view, he's moving with practiced stealth through the brush and leaves, retrieving his arrow from the eye socket of his kill, wiping the gore onto the leg of his pants. She watches him exact the carbon fiber back into his quiver—such a heavy-looking hand, doing everything with delicate precision.

His sharp eyes scan the woods, and his arms are as rigid as they are loose—ready for battle. He's a formidable soldier in this war. She can feel his tension and hesitation mix with that of her own and Vi's, who sidles up next to her, silent and watchful as ever.

Faith quickly takes note of four things about the man: he is alone; he's carrying enough meat to feed at least eight people with current apocalyptic appetites and sensibilities; he is well-equipped and resourceful, if filthy and blood-soaked; and he knows he's being watched.

"Don't know who y'are, but I don't have a reputation for sharin' or patience, so you best show y'selves now—get it over with," he calls out in that lazy, backwoods drawl that Faith has yet to get used to during her stint in Georgia.

He shifts his crossbow and his weight. Faith and Vi consider their next moves.

"Choice's yours," he continues, reaching back into the quiver for an arrow and easily laying eyes and leveling his weapon on the area from where the women have been surreptitiously analyzing his every step.

Faith moves first, her own weapon raised and aimed as she emerges from the lush foliage of their hiding place. Vi follows, toting a sleek, but heavy-duty spear.

In addition to the small brunette's Stryker crossbow, the two women are armed with a massive amount of hand-to-hand combat weapons: swords, brass knuckles, and knives. Neither of them is carrying a gun.

_Can't weigh more'n a buck-ten and they're heftin' all that shit?_

"I'm usually a shoot first, ask questions later kinda girl," Faith says. "But you've piqued my interest."

Vi simply holds her position firm at her partner's side.

They're at a stalemate, just at the edge of a fight. Daryl sizes them up, taking in the minimal information he's gathered about them since he first spotted them the day before. Even though he doesn't really know them from Eve, his gut, and their obvious skill, confirm that they'd be good people to have on his side, as opposed to having them not on his side.

Yesterday he stumbled upon them battling a small herd of walkers—maybe 30—and was mesmerized by the way they fought. He knew there was no way they weren't specially trained, and they might know something more about the walkers; now, he's thinking  _maybe they ain't even human_. He and Rick agreed that Daryl would head out on reconnaissance today. Daryl's now thinking this mission could wind up as recruitment or attack; it could really go either way.

"What kinda questions?" he asks, stalling, but relenting as much as his instincts let him.

Faith waits two beats of a breath, sensing something about him. She also wonders how close his camp is, and what she'll have to do to get him to take them there. She has no desire—or energy, if she's being honest—to force him to; but she and Vi need a place to rest up and pull their shit together.

"Where's the rest of your group?" she asks.

Daryl continues to furtively survey the area surrounding them, wondering the whereabouts of the man he saw with them the day before. He also wonders what the girls want and need—everyone wants something these days. Regardless, he's got a crew of people and a baby counting on the bounty in his pouch, and he will not allow his camp to be infiltrated by a couple of smartass bitches with medieval weaponry.

"I need some information first," he says.

"What, are we goin' on a date?" Faith asks, and Vi lets out a brief snort of laughter. "In case you haven't noticed, Jethro, it's the end of the world. We don't have time for niceties."

"Name's Daryl," he says, realigning his bow. "And we ain't goin' nowhere, girl, together or otherwise, 'til we clear up a few things."

This is starting to feel futile to Faith, or like a fucking stupid game, and she usually likes to play for power. Yet she and Vi have been through too much the past few days, they're both too fucking tired. She doesn't feel like playing right now.

"I'm Vi, and this is Faith." Vi steps in, much more diplomatic than Faith was willing to be. "We're not from around here. We lost one of ours yesterday, and now we're looking to find a place to rest up and regroup."

Faith keeps a keen eye on Daryl's movements, and hopes for further indication of the vibe she's getting from him. The sense of familiarity about him—energy, a scent—is driving her up a fucking tree and she's too exhausted to pinpoint what it is.

"Doesn't seem to be a lot of options around here…" Vi continues, trying to prompt Daryl to throw them a bone, or stand down, or, if he's smart, run away.

"Not a lot," Daryl mutters, then pauses briefly. "Where y'all headed?"

"Dunno yet," Faith answers, her voice sounding faint, even to her own ears. "We were… trying to figure that out when…"

Without words or breaking his gaze, Daryl slowly relaxes his stance and lowers his bow. Faith looks to Vi, then mirrors his actions; but they each remain vigilant, watchful of each other's every move.

"Thank God," Vi says, almost under her breath, relaxing as well.

"Said you lost your third." Daryl wants the girls to keep filling in the blanks for him.

But Faith is suddenly on guard again, swiftly aiming the bow right at Daryl's head.

"No one gave you any numbers,  _Daryl_ ," she spits.

Vi steels herself, her gaze rapidly firing between Faith and Daryl. Daryl keeps his bow in one hand, but raises both hands in a kind of surrender. Faith is inappropriately amused by this gesture, but the tiny bit she's gathered about this guy tells her he doesn't generally back down easy.

He keeps talking, though, and his breath is slow and even.

"Saw ya yesterday," he says, nodding. "From the top of the ravine. You had a man with you. Was headed back to my people when I heard, and saw..."

And then it takes shape in the exhausted recesses of Faith's addled mind—she felt his presence yesterday, but her subconscious categorized him as a minor threat, just as it's doing now. She is at once humiliated and relieved by this realization.

"We've lost people, too," he continues, as he slowly slings his bow over his shoulder with just his thumb, hands remaining open, palms out. "Brothers, sisters, daughters… wives and mothers."

It's a peace offering, Faith knows it, but her wound is still too new; they just left Robin the day before in the woods. Still, she relaxes once again. She wants to trust Daryl, her instincts are telling her to do so, and she's just about tapped out of energy or caring.

"Where's your camp?" she asks again, her voice low and quiet.

She's sick of fighting, walking, talking, but there's no reason to dwell on it. What would be the fucking point? Isn't everyone exhausted these days?

Daryl watches the girls closely and quietly for a solid three seconds before Faith finally meets his steel-blue gaze again. His eyes burn through to the last bits of resistance she holds against him. The air moves around them and their breathing evens and matches up in time. Then Daryl nods, determined.

"A'right," he says, watching both girls closely. "Keep your eyes open, and follow me."

It takes almost an hour before they reach their destination. They don't come across another of the brain-dead beasts, and Daryl barely says five words. Faith still isn't sure what to expect when they reach a clearing and Daryl's focus shifts, signaling that they've arrived.

Oddly, as taciturn as he is, there's something very reassuring about him. Something that makes her feel less exposed and unstable; but there's no rational explanation for it—just sheer instinct. He's also smoking fucking hot, but Faith is wound as tight as always after days' worth of fighting, so her attraction to him isn't surprising to her.

She really needs a nap.

When what appears to be a prison comes into view, she stops dead in her tracks and starts to laugh.

"You're kidding, right?" Faith says, shaking her head, like there is no fucking way in Hell she's going in there, no matter how much she may or may not trust him.

"Go'n and stay out here, then," he says, as he waves his hand in a welcoming gesture, never breaking his stride. He keeps on toward the large gate that's opening slowly and narrowly; but it isn't long before Faith and Vi recognize the area is surrounded by wandering, flesh-seeking idiots, so they quickly follow Daryl toward the fence.

"Hey, man," says a guy with a handlebar mustache, as he closes the gate behind them. "Have a good hunt?"

The man looks nervous. He's eyeing Daryl's companions warily, and seems to be asking Daryl about more than hunting. Daryl just nods, though, and raises his daypack in answer; he doesn't speak or even look the other man in the eye.

Faith guesses that the sudden sag in Daryl's step and drooping eyelids, now that they're behind the secured gate, are indications that Daryl's as exhausted as she is. She also notices, once again, that even with the blood, sweat, and mud, she wouldn't mind taking Daryl for a ride.

She inwardly berates herself for that thought, but she's itching for a release; it's been building exponentially since Robin's delayed return from running the most recently found slayer to the North American safe house.

Then, the subsequent attack on their camp the previous morning was the first time they'd encountered a herd that size, and she was still reeling from losing Robin so instantly. As much as beheading and ending the herd should have taken out her revenge, and certainly had burned her physical energy, it had only fanned the flames of her anxiety and despondency.

"Thank you," Vi says. Faith's grateful she's said it, because it needs to be said, and she's all out of words.

"Don't thank me yet," Daryl says as he leads them across a grassy yard and through one of the building entrances.

A strange sense of calm comes over Faith, which is unexpected, considering it's a fucking prison; but she spent a considerable amount of time searching her soul for peace in a place a lot like this at one time. Things were simple then—easy. She knows that nothing will ever be that simple again, but she'll take the false sense of security the environment lends to her if it means just one night, or hour, of uninterrupted sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This fic is set post-Chosen (BTVS), post-Not Fade Away (Angel), and post-Hounded (TWD). However, there is no Michonne or Woodbury—no Andrea, either. As of right now, some BTVS/Angel characters (e.g. Angel, Giles, Buffy, Spike) may be seen in flashbacks.
> 
> Enter, Rick Grimes and Team Prison. Lemme know what y'all think?
> 
> Disclaimer: All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.

"Daryl."

The name is the only word out of the man's mouth as he approaches with slow, steady steps and hunched shoulders. He speaks in a different kind of slow, southern style than Daryl's—quiet and hospitable, but authoritative, too—and he looks like he's carrying a heavy secret, or the weight of the world, that he can't or won't unburden.

Faith doesn't wonder, now, why Daryl said not to thank him yet. He's not in charge; this man is.

Daryl nods and shifts his weight. "This is Faith and Vi—girls I saw yesterday."

Daryl's voice is quiet, but clear. This is a new dimension to the ominous hunter they met in the woods an hour before, who led them back to this prison fortress. He's softer, somehow, gracious and intent. The change isn't a bad thing—just an observation. It's ingrained in Faith to catalogue details like these. She's even a bit buoyed by the shift in his demeanor. It almost gives her hope.

"This's Rick," Daryl says to the girls. "Brought y'all back here 'cause I thought we might be able to help each other out… but he'll be the judge."

Rick makes direct eye contact with Faith and shakes her hand, then turns to Vi and does the same. His gaze has an edge to it; yet, there's no mistaking the gentleness that lives underneath. His grip is strong and eager, but not in an attempt to intimidate or overwhelm.

"Hungry?" Rick asks, with a tilt of his head and something resembling a glint in his eye.

Faith wonders where in Hell this human man has found any source of happiness or inspiration. Or, maybe he hasn't and instead he's got a closet full of skeletons. She immediately begins to recount her footsteps out of there for her and Vi's escape—not that he'd be able to do anything to them, anyway.

She is hungry, though, and so, so tired.

Faith nods—yes, they are hungry, and she and Vi follow Rick down a corridor to a large, open area. It seems they've transformed the space in to a makeshift cafeteria. The girls glance around wondering...  _there have to be others_.

"Hope ya don't mind soup from a can," Rick says with a wry grin, as he wanders with intent through a doorway and into a kitchen.

"Not a problem," Faith says, as she and Vi continue to assess their surroundings.

Her eyes land on Daryl watching her closely. She's once again made aware of the constant tension that they all carry. She glances down to where Daryl's crossbow is still loaded and his finger is on the trigger. Faith wonders if he ever has any fun at all. If she wasn't so set on resting up, getting fed, and getting the fuck out of there, she'd think about showing him a good time.

All things considered, she's surprisingly relaxed for what they've been through, and for being watched like an accused criminal in a prison ward. They're slayers, though, and she's conscious of the fact that a couple of human men can't hurt her and Vi. It's not like they're sticking around long enough to be proven wrong, anyway.

Rick emerges from the kitchen carrying two bowls and a couple of spoons. He walks toward a table just to the right of the girls and Daryl. He's very direct again when he sets the bowls down on the table.

"Take a seat," he says, waving them over.

The girls don't hesitate before doing as Rick suggested, then digging into their food. Faith feels Rick watching them. She knows he wants something, or wants to ask something. She isn't going to drag it out of him, though. She just wants to eat and sleep, and then they'll be on their way.

"Daryl says you're, uh... somethin' else," Rick finally speaks.

He backs away from the table and settles against a hip-high platform a few feet from where they're eating, crosses his ankles, and folds his hands into his lap. He seems very relaxed, isn't confrontational or wary—not like so many of the other people they met before. Even a few of the slayers, who had powers like their own, seemed confused and scared and apprehensive. Rick and Daryl are both at ease with the obvious difference in the girls.

Vi arches a brow toward Faith in question. They've been down this road before, answering questions and accusations, but she waits for Faith's lead. Regardless of the men's apparent lack of fear, Faith does what she does best; she deflects.

"Thanks for the food, Rick," she says, holding her spoon in one hand and her bowl in the other, drinking the rest of her soup straight from the dish, nodding. Then she wipes her mouth on the sleeve of her jacket. "We don't wanna be any trouble, though. We'll head out at first light."

Rick shakes his head slowly and raises his hands in surrender, similar to Daryl in the woods early that afternoon.

_Good cop, good cop, apparently…_

"Don't get the wrong idea, now," he says. "Daryl says he thought you'd be worth knowin', and I trust this man with m'life."

Faith settles back on the bench she and Vi share, propping herself up with one elbow, and straddling the seat. She watches the two men and they watch her. Vi pretends that her soup is incredibly interesting.

Faith quickly weighs their options. Yes, these men want something from them; no one in his right mind would take in strangers to what appears to be a super fucking secure set up like this, unless he wanted something. No, they can't take anything by force from her and Vi, no matter what it is. No, she isn't going to let any uncertainties get in the way of the necessities of food and sleep right now. Yes, she should give a little in return for these few given necessities.

Before she can say anything, though, Daryl chimes in with an almost playful tone in his voice.

"Saw 'em tossing walkers size a Oscar 'round like they's Little Ass Kicker."

Rick smirks, and rolls his eyes at Daryl, who chews on the inside of his bottom lip, like he can't be bothered to smile; yet, he can't hide the joke in his eyes.

"He likes to call my baby girl Little Ass Kicker." Rick shakes his head in amusement. "Name's Judith, though."

The easy camaraderie between these men is puzzling to Faith—not the bond itself, but the reasoning behind why they're sharing it with her and Vi. They're interested and impressed with her and Vi's abilities, but there's more to survival these days than kicking ass, so Faith remains as wary as ever. Vi isn't ever as guarded as Faith, though, so she grins up at Rick and Daryl, like she's in on the fucking joke.

"Look, Rick…" Faith starts to stand. "We appreciate it, really, but we just need a place to rest up, like I said-"

"Absolutely," he says, standing to meet her. "We'll just give ya a secure place t'sleep for the night."

Faith's starting to feel like this is a mistake, this back and forth and fucking around. She already has a commitment—to get back to the safe house—she can't afford to commit her and Vi to these humans. She almost wishes she were out in the woods again killing zombies; at least then she'd know where the fuck she stood. She rolls her eyes.

Rick looks back at Daryl. "I'll ask Beth to clean up here in a bit. Me and you can show the girls around."

Daryl nods and heads toward the door. Rick waves the girls over to follow. Vi picks up her bowl as she stands and dumps the remainder of the soup in her mouth, then she and Faith walk after the men out of the cafeteria.

After a few minutes of silence, Rick looks back to the girls. "'Sides fight—wha'do you do?"

Faith tenses, even though she saw this line of questioning coming from a mile away. She looks to Vi, tries to convey her clear desire to tread lightly, because  _we're not staying. We just need one good night's sleep for fuck's sake._

"I'm- " Vi pauses, then eyes Faith, silently asking permission to attempt to answer Rick's question; Faith nods reluctantly. "I was a whiz at chemistry and bio… medicine, healing herbs—that kinda thing."

Rick nods appreciatively, then turns his expectant gaze to Faith.

As much as she doesn't want to answer, she ponders; all she's ever done is fight. She's better at it than most, though, even most slayers and vamps. She assesses their surroundings as they walk and weighs the good and bad of showing instead of telling, of intimidating and warning, but thinks better of it—for now.

"I'm no expert tracker like your boy here," she says, nodding to indicate Daryl, remembering how he crept up on them with barely a trace. "But I know my way around weapons. I can hunt."

Rick nods again. "Good skills to have."

Once they reach the cells, Faith sees six new people. There's a young girl and boy, a woman holding a baby, an older guy, who's missing part of a leg, and a big black guy in a prisoner's uniform. Faith wonders at the motley crew, and how they've come to be.

Rick briefly introduces the girls to the small group. Carol, the woman holding baby Judith, gives the baby to Hershel, the old guy on crutches. Faith is treated to yet another side of Daryl when he hands over the day's hunting take to Carol then adjusts the sheriff's hat that Carl, Rick's kid, is wearing.

Faith is momentarily stunned silent with the family dynamic amongst the group. It almost makes her homesick—almost.

"This way," Rick says, as he keeps walking and the small group disperses, Beth and Carl tagging along. "Y'all can bunk in here for the night."

Rick indicates a vacant cell with bare mattresses in the bunks, but it's still the best looking sleeping quarters either of the girls has seen in weeks. Faith breathes a final sigh of relief. She cannot fucking wait to sleep.

"I'll bring you some linens," Beth says with a small smile. "And there's a shower room-"

"Up the stairs and down the corridor?" Faith interrupts, pointing toward the upper level of cells and another set of doors leading away from the area. "I'm pretty familiar with prison layout."

Beth's eyes go wide for a second, and she looks to Rick then Daryl then Carl. Rick nods, and lays a hand on Beth's shoulder, as Faith and Vi unload their weapons on the floor out of the way of the bunks, Faith slinging her crossbow over the head of the bed.

"You run on and grab the girls a coupla towels and blankets," Rick says to Beth. "Maybe some clean clothes, okay?"

The girl nods and looks to Carl, asking him to accompany her. Carl doesn't hesitate to go with her and help; he's certainly intrigued by their visitors, but he wants to help Beth, too. The kids scurry past Daryl and Rick.

"Me'n Oscar'll head up to the tower and relieve Glenn'n Maggie," Daryl says.

Then he turns to Faith and Vi, nods once and hesitates for just a beat, eyes starting to roam over Faith's form. Then suddenly he's gone.

"Didn't mean to freak anybody out," Faith says, shaking her head and leaning against one of the bunks, rueing her old ability to clear a room with her social graces.

"No need t'apologize," Rick says. "Just get some rest, and we'll talk in the mornin'."

Vi heaves a sigh and brushes past Faith then slumps onto the bottom mattress where she promptly lays flat and stretches her legs with a groan. Rick and Faith both chuckle at Vi's clear statement of her priorities. Faith shakes her head, feeling the exhaustion slowly closing in beyond her control to fight it off any longer.

"Well," she says. "Thanks… for everything."

"Welcome," Rick says backing away from the door, as Beth returns with linens and a stack of clothes.

"There's shampoo and body wash in the showers," she says with a renewed smile. "These things oughtta fit."

She hands Faith the clothes and other things, smiling again. "'Night y'all."

"'Night," Faith says, and watches the girl walk away.

"Sleep well," Rick says and leaves without further ado.

Faith watches them walk away, blinks, then pulls her jacket from her shoulders, stifling a groan of pain from a quickly healing rotator cuff injury. She drops the blood-stiffened denim to the floor, toes her boots off her feet, and removes the rest of her clothes until she's standing in just a pair of panties.

She wraps herself in a blanket and climbs up on the top bunk to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to moojuicey, onelilhopeful, and einfach_mich for helping me talk through this and get to writing, and to MsKathy for holding my hand and wielding the red pen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hi, guys. :) I've decided to post on Wednesdays, so here's this week's update! Please DM or hit me with a review if you have any questions or concerns going forward. Next chapter (ch. 4), you'll get some explanation about how the BTVS/Angel-verses fit into this landscape, and you'll see Faith and Daryl ~alone in ch. 5.
> 
> I love feedback, so lemme know what you think so far?
> 
> Disclaimer: All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.

_They're surrounded by trees and leaves and dark. Robin's dead and so are the 30 zombies who attacked them just as he'd come back from his run up north._

_How did he get so far alone and then… die in her arms?_

_The walker lying dead next to him retains Faith's best knife in its eye. She retrieves it, cruelly twisting the hilt, as if the dead piece of shit could feel her wrath for delivering its killing bite to the throat of her friend and lover._

_But she doesn't have time to grieve._

_In an effort to prevent Robin from writhing and rising as one of them, she cleans her blade as best she can, then drives it through his skull._

_… But he rises anyway, and starts to chase her through the woods._

_Vi is suddenly nowhere to be found, but everyone else she knows is there, chasing her, dead._

_Even Angel. How did Angel get dead? He's already dead, but not like these flesh-eating creeps. Now, his eyes are milky white and his flesh is hanging from his bones in tatters._

_And Buffy's there, too. She's unreasonably fast and stealth as she drags one legs behind herself, her mouth moving as if she's trying to speak through the low moaning and wailing that surrounds them._

_Everyone's chasing her until she makes it to a clearing and sees the prison in the distance. She runs through a yard of open graves toward the fence._

_She sees the guy with the handlebar mustache, yells and screams for him to open the gate. She's terrified. They're gaining on her. Her legs are like rubber. He won't open the gate. He just watches her as she tries to climb the fence._

_Angel grabs a hold of her leg. He can talk, though she doesn't know why, and he tells her that she's left them all to die. She feels his razor sharp fangs sink into the flesh of her calf, but she kicks free with her other leg and makes it over the fence._

_The guy with the mustache tells her that she has to tell Rick about the bite. She tells him it doesn't matter because they're all going to die anyway. She tells him that he can't tell anyone, but he calls out to Rick, yelling that Faith's been bitten._

_She pulls her knife and guts him in the yard._

Faith wakes with a start. She's sweating and breathing heavy. She has no idea what time it is, and she doesn't know why she's in the top bunk, because  _Debbie's bunk is the top bunk_. Then, she remembers that the dream she was having isn't so far from the truth, and she wonders  _where's Robin and Vi?_

Then the brutal reality of the dream hits home and her body's suddenly very cold.

 _Robin's dead_.

She shivers.

_Vi's in the bottom bunk. We're in a prison in the middle of fucking Georgia._

She rolls over and unfolds her limbs, groaning as her muscles and joints stretch and pop and grind. She lays flat on her back and stares at the ceiling, listening to Vi snore softly, thinking about the safe house in Minnesota, over a thousand miles away, thinking  _we need to get there, tell Angel about Robin, circle the wagons._

"Shit."

She runs her hands over her face and through her hair, feeling clumps of dried blood in the thick strands. She decides she could use that shower Beth mentioned, then slips over the side of the top bunk and lands her bare feet on the floor. Her dirty clothes are missing, but her weapons and boots are there, much cleaner than they were before.

She turns and looks to Vi, checking if it was she who took their clothes somewhere and cleaned things up, but Vi hasn't moved from the spot where she passed out the night before; or maybe it's still night, she doesn't even know.

Faith closes her eyes and breathes in deep, calming, thinking… She should probably be pissed that these people took her weapons while they slept. Instead, she inwardly jokes about little weapons cleaning elves, like  _Apocalyptic Merry Maids_.

She wraps herself in the towel and snatches the clean clothes and her boots from the floor, and her knife from where she slipped it under her pillow. She heads out of her cell and climbs the stairs to the upper level.

At the top of the steps, she finds a Spartan-like sleeping area. It doesn't take a genius to figure out it's Daryl's space—simple, frugal, away from the others, but overlooking everything. She glances around as she walks, and listens hard for any sign of him, or anyone (or anything) else.

Rick told her and Vi that the place was secure, but she hasn't checked it out for herself, and regardless,  _the fucking geeks are like rats_ ; they find their way into almost anywhere sometimes.

The only sound she hears, though, is the distant spray of water. She knows she's getting closer to the showers as the sound gets louder and she begins to feel moist heat fill the space around her. She pauses a minute, just outside the door, rethinking her timing and priorities, wanting to avoid a confrontation with anyone, but also wanting to get clean, reset, and think about what to do next.

She decides to brave it, then, and rounds the corner. Daryl's there—stripped bare and wet. Without the crossbow—he's propped it against the wall—and all those clothes, Daryl reminds Faith once again of just how wound up she still is. She stops cold and silently watches him.

His neck is thick and smooth, his shoulders are broad and muscled, and his waist and hips are tight and slim. She could easily wrap her legs around him, hook her ankles, and take the ride of her life.

As her eyes slide over his body, she sees that his skin is evenly marked with ink and scars, and Faith recognizes that not all of the scars are recent. She immediately identifies them as the kind of scars that are left behind by lashes from a belt. She's can relate to that kind of damage.

Then it's clear that she's stared a second too long, because he's suddenly facing her, walking away from the shower and toward her, eyes hard and narrow.

"Take a picture; it'll last longer," he says, combing his fingers through his shaggy, wet hair with one hand and reaching for a towel with the other. He ties the towel around his hips, but not before Faith can see that he's half-hard, and that feeling of  _want_  manifests into a sound that lodges in her throat.

He pushes past her and through the door before she can say a word.

Her shower should have been the best she'd ever had—hot and satisfying in every way. There was a small part of her brain that began to think maybe she'd have a little "lady's time"; after finding Daryl, and him being such a fucking bitch, her sex buzz was sufficiently harshed.

Then she had to pass him again, where he slept, before heading back down to her cell to get Vi.

"Vi!" Faith kicks Vi's mattress. "Get a move on."

She doesn't even care if Vi wants to shower at this point. They have no business being there; the dream told her so, and they have to get back to the safe house—every signal points to it.

"What?" Vi groans and rolls onto her side, shoving at the weapons Faith is foisting upon her before she can even sit up. "Where… What are you doing?"

"We're outta this place," Faith says, arming herself to walk through the gates and back out into the dead wasteland.

"What's wrong with you?" Vi asks, standing to meet Faith face-to-face.

Faith is pacing, combing fingers through her wet hair, frantically calculating a plan. They need to travel a thousand miles as fast as possible, and with just the two of them to keep watch; and it appears that Vi may not want to leave so readily.

_This is gonna fuckin' suck… Do I leave her? Force her to go? I should just leave her..._

"Faith!"

Faith rounds on Vi.

"Listen." Vi's voice is calm yet fierce as she breathes slow and steady, hands out and open, like Faith is some kind of wild animal she's trying to tame. "We've been through a lot the past couple of days—Robin, the herd, and… this place… Let's just rest, okay? Can we just… rest?"

Faith bristles at her tone and disposition.

" _This place_  is everything come to a head." Faith strains her whispering voice. "Don't you see that? It's fuckin' weird, Vi."

"What's so weird about it?" Vi asks, trying to keep her own voice low, but it's too late; they both can hear rustling outside their cell door. "These people are surviving and more! Why can't we take a little refuge here?"

Faith's mind races with the possibilities, of what could be happening back at the safe house, of what they could be missing when their next order goes unanswered because Robin never had the chance to tell them where and when to take the mystical call.

"We don't even know what these people want from us," Faith says. "Everybody wants fuckin'  _something_ , Vi… I just don't trust it."

Vi looks at her like she's on fire or at least has lost her mind. "What don't you trust?"

"It's all too…" Faith grasps for the right words, but Vi could never understand. Vi's always been able to count on someone, she's had to learn not to trust, but Faith doesn't have time to teach her this one lesson.

"Too  _what_ , Faith? Normal? Nice? Too good to be true? Well, I'm willing to take that chance if only for a couple of days of rest."

Faith doesn't wait for more explanation or argument.

"Fine." She tosses Vi's weapons onto her mattress. "You stay. I'll go."

"Faith, wait…"

Faith storms out the door just as Vi reaches for her wrist. The grip on her arm causes such alarm that Faith jerks, feeling Vi pulling her back. She lunges, throws a punch, catches Vi's chin, and knocks them both through the doorway.

They struggle. Faith sees that Daryl's awake and armed, Rick is walking down the corridor. The girls keep wrestling, neither of them able to quickly gain the upper hand. Daryl's bow is aimed keenly on their fight, and Rick is bearing down.

Then they crash into the open door, bending the grate and cracking the cement blocks of the wall behind it.

Faith wrenches herself out of Vi's grasp and the two fly apart, each slamming into opposite walls, cracking the blocks further. "Okay! Okay— _Jesus fucking_ …"

Daryl's on the top deck, bow at the ready, keeping both girls in his sight, but focusing on Faith. Rick's about five yards down the corridor with his hand on his Colt Python revolver.

"Problem, ladies?" Rick asks.

The girls stare at each other, slowing their breathing, while Faith thinks of what, if anything, she should tell Rick.

"No problem, officer," she says.

After a few more tense beats, Vi pushes away from the wall and reaches inside the cell to grab the clean clothes and towel. "I'm taking a shower."

She heads up the stairs toward Daryl, who's relaxing his weapon, but is closely watching Faith. As Vi passes him and heads down the hall, Daryl nods to Rick. He watches Rick approach Faith, speaking quietly, secretively.

Daryl guesses that Faith took Rick aback with the "officer" comment. They hadn't told her that Rick was a deputy sheriff, but she's a quit-witted little thing,  _and fuckin' mouthy as Hell, for sure_.

Still, Daryl knows he didn't make a mistake bringing the girls into the prison, even if he needs to keep reassuring Rick that they're safe and on the right path. He watches Faith move slowly and stiffly—always so guarded and on. Once she rests her small, lithe frame against the broken wall and settles back to grudgingly listen to Rick's calming voice, Daryl turns to head back to his sleeping pallet.

They don't need these girls—Daryl and Rick both know that; they can get by without them, just as they always have, but Daryl also knows that Rick wants more, and these girls are assets. He's waiting patiently for just the right moment to explain to Rick just how valuable they are.

Daryl closes his eyes, trying to get a couple hours of sleep. He can hear the low murmur of Faith and Rick talking in the corridor just below him, as he drifts in and out of consciousness. In his restless sleep, all he can see is steam and water and suds, wavy, brown hair and full, plump lips, and wet, silky skin; and he hears her say his name.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Happy Wednesday! This chapter will hopefully bring some of you, who may not know about slayer mythology, up to speed. Please feel free to ask questions, but I'd also love to hear from you, so type something in that box at the bottom. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.

"I was a sheriff's deputy," Rick says, addressing Faith's allusion to his officer status. "Carl still wears my hat."

Faith nods. "Saw that."

Faith's voice is not much more than a rasp. She's small, and soft, and pretty, too, and Rick wonders how much power and umbrage it takes to make this slip of a girl into the destructive force he just witnessed. He doesn't want to test her boundaries, though, so he just settles back against the wall next to her and keeps the conversation flowing.

"Bein' in law enforcement, I'd seen a thing or two. Then I woke up from a coma 'bout 10 months ago," Rick says. "Whole different world."

Faith snorts; she knows a few things about comas, but since she's already put everyone off with her prison talk, she decides to take a different route. Besides, it's a good segue into what she needs to tell Rick.

"Wakin' up in a zombie apocalypse," she mumbles. "What the fuck, right?"

Rick nods and lets out something close to a guffaw. He backs up against the wall next to her, settling in to get some more information from her—to try and find out if she and Vi plan to stay and what their real story is, find out why Daryl's so bent on them being there.

"Look, Rick," she says, shifting her weight against the concrete, and feeling the broken pieces crumble further as they cascade over the straps of her tank top and her bare shoulders and arms. "You seem like a good guy, so I'm gonna be straight up with you."

She pauses, letting the gravity of the situation sink in, and Rick's eyes narrow.

"The world you thought you knew—the world you lived in before that coma? Was a lie," she says. "This one? Where dead people get up and walk around eating people? This is the real world."

"I'm aware this is real, Faith," he says. "You got somethin' else to tell me?"

Rick's listening carefully. She can see the wheels turning. She needs him to understand that what she's saying is that nothing's changed, this is the way things have always been, but somebody fucked up. The need to tell him heats her gut and sends her into a spiral.

She pushes herself away from the wall and begins to pace, then stops in front of Rick, waves a hand over the broken pieces of concrete and bent steel, like she's Vanna fucking White.

"This?" she says, referring to the damage she and Vi have done. "This is the world I've lived in for years."

Rick looks at the wall, then back at her—still quietly thinking, his brow intensely creased. He nods quietly, encouraging her to continue, so she does.

"Zombies, vampires, demons, witches," she says. "All real. And people like me and Vi, we were working to make sure people like you didn't know about that reality."

She begins to pace again, and Rick, incredulous at her news, watches her energy ramp up. He stands up straight, his gaze drifting up to where Daryl is lying. He has no idea if what she's saying is absolutely insane, and he's hoping she doesn't decide to break another wall any time soon.

"He's sleeping," Faith says, off-hand. "Kind of… his breathing's evened out."

Rick refocuses his full attention on the girl in front of him. He tries to wrap his brain around the inconceivable tale she's telling. He remains cautious.

"So, you can fight demons, bend steel, and hear a man breathin' from over 10 yards away," Rick says, like it's a challenge, then he shrugs—he wants her to tell him more.

Maybe he should be afraid; she seems to want to scare him, but there isn't a lot that scares him anymore, and if she wanted to hurt them, she would have done it already. He wonders about Vi, though—if they'll have another fight when she comes back, or if she'll have something to add to Faith's slowly developing story.

"Yeah," Faith says, wondering if she's said too much. "Among other things, yeah, I can bend steel and I have kick ass hearing, but this isn't about me."

"A'right," he says, widening his stance and placing one hand over the gun on his hip. "What's it about then?"

She's pacing again—or stalking, so it seems—and her side gaze rakes Rick up and down. She sees his hand is on his hip, but the fact alarms her less than it reassures her. She's glad he's being cautious, and she appreciates that he's not about to bullshit her.

"While you were keeping the peace in the streets? We were doin' it underground."

"Where?" he asks, his body subtly turning with her movements, keeping her in his line of sight and fire at all times.

"Everywhere," she says, coming to a stop, looking up to where Daryl's sleeping, and she lowers her voice. "But we failed. So now we gotta clean it up."

"You're sayin' a lotta words here, Faith," Rick asks. "About children's stories and the Boogey Man, but ya aren't tellin' me what I need to know, are ya?"

"You need a plan, more than just to survive," Faith non-answers, turning to face him again. "We—you haven't seen the worst of it."

"Doesn't matter if it gets worse," he says. He shrugs, even through the tension he feels. "We gotta survive before we do anything else. Survivin' is the plan right now."

"No." She shakes her head vehemently. "It's more than that. They're one step ahead, all the fucking time. That's what I'm trying to tell you."

"Who's one step ahead?" he asks, advancing toward her, beginning to lose his patience.

"Let's start at the beginning," she says, backing away from his advance and holding up her hands. "You know we're all dead, right?"

Rick's jaw tenses and he breathes in deep before nodding slowly. He knows the truth of what she's saying just as well, if not better, than anyone else. The way she's saying it, though... She knows more.

"For a while we thought it was some kinda virus," she says quietly, almost as if she's speaking to herself. "Or mystical failsafe from the Senior Partners…"

Her voice trails off, as Vi comes into view. Then Faith looks to Rick again. He's watching her closely, looking at her like he thinks she might be crazy, but he wants her to continue anyway.

"Senior partners?" he asks, grateful Vi's back, hoping she'll shed some light on Faith's cryptic storytelling. "A law firm?"

Vi descends the stairs. She's sympathetic to Rick's confusion and frustration, and she feels a little guilty for abandoning Faith when she was clearly knocked off kilter. She knows Robin's death was particularly difficult for Faith, and neither of them have had time to really grieve. Not to mention that they're way off course, and Faith feels responsible for Vi, being the older, more experienced slayer.

Vi tosses her dirty clothes inside the cell as she comes to Faith's side. The girls exchange a look before Faith continues.

"The Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart are demons," she says. "Ancient. They were bottom feeders basically, parasites; yet, somehow they survived the rise of humanity."

Rick's eyebrows shoot to the ceiling and he runs a hand over his jaw. "Demons," he says, and the girls both nod. "Just… stayin' on the same page. You sayin' those walkers are demons, or…?"

"No." Faith shakes her head. "The walkers, as you call them, are the least of our worries."

"Wolfram & Hart is a law firm, yes, " Vi picks up the story. "They maintained offices in every major city of the world—LA, Houston, New York, Tokyo, London, Rome…"

A sense of dread is starting to spread through Rick's body, and the worst part isn't that he's learned demons and vampires are real. It had occurred to him that someone powerful was behind the outbreak—someone had to be responsible, yet hearing this possible confirmation is like a punch to the gut.

"My friend Angel was the CEO of the LA branch," Faith says. "Angel's a vamp—very old, very tough, which is why they wanted him and trusted him, but he staged a coup."

"You're friends… with a vampire." Rick keeps repeating the more implausible words he hears the girls say.

"Yeah, but, he isn't evil," Faith says, almost defensively.

Vi shakes her head. "Yeah, no, not anymore."

Rick mentally grasps at straws. He really wishes that Daryl were awake and listening to this, because he needs a reality check. He takes a deep breath, looks down at his boots, then back up at the girls.

"And… you?" He's utterly stunned.

"We're only part demon," Vi says, and Rick blinks.

Faith nods again in agreement with Vi, a small crease beginning to form between her eyebrows. She didn't expect Rick to take this all in an easy stride, but he seems to be turning a little green.

"Ya okay?" she asks, and Rick nods faintly, then she hears Daryl's breathing and weight shift and glances up to his sleeping area. "He's awake, by the way."

Rick doesn't take his eyes off of the girls; though he hopes Daryl heard at least some of what they're telling him.

"Hey, D," she calls up to where Daryl is pretending not to hear. "Why don't you come on down here and listen in? It's story time."

"Explain to me about bein' part demon?" Rick says, looking pale and drawn. "And how you're responsible for those things out there."

Daryl pulls himself on his belly to the edge of the platform, not bothering to actually get up. All he heard was something about vampires and demons in Rick's incredulous tone of voice, so he hopes he's dreaming. He pokes his head over the side of the platform, eyebrows raised, and Rick flashes his eyes up to briefly meet his.

"We're slayers," Faith says, as if it's the most natural, logical answer.

Daryl rolls to his back and stares up at the ceiling.

_Nope—not dreamin'._

"Fuck," he whispers into his hands as they rake over his face.

He's still sure he didn't make a mistake bringing the girls back with him, but he thinks after this conversation, it might get harder to reassure Rick. He climbs to his feet, grabs a shirt and pulls it over his head, then pushes into his boots before descending the stairs.

Daryl crosses the space to meet Rick. Faith is smirking at him, and he notices a deep dimple in her cheek. It's mesmerizing, and it looks like it's mocking him, like it has a mind of its own, like it's tempting him to drag his finger over it on the way to her full, plump lips before dipping inside her hot, wet mouth.

_I need a damn nap. A longer one._

"We're not evil, if that's what you're getting at," she continues to answer Rick, arching a brow at Daryl, like she knows exactly what he's thinking. "How was your nap, princess?"

Daryl scowls at her and that fucking dimple.

Rick shrugs and addresses her comment about them being evil. "Gotta wonder what with you bein' part demon, and your vampire buddy's the CEO of the law firm that started this thing."

Daryl folds his arms over his chest and gnaws on the inside of his bottom lip. He isn't brandishing the crossbow, but he has a knife tucked into a sheath on one of the belt loops of his pants. Regardless, his lack of armament and Rick's tone of voice, make Faith wonder if the men aren't taking her and Vi very seriously.

"You think this is a joke?" she asks.

"No, I don't," Rick shakes his head, and he's being honest; but he does need her to convince him that he didn't make the wrong decision letting them in. "To be honest, I'll believe just about anything, at this point—just seems y'all got a little more to say. So say it."

"Tell 'im," Daryl says, and Faith looks at him, puzzled.

The expression on his face sends a chill over her skin. She was just playing with him before, but maybe she's the one being played.

"Into every generation a slayer's born." Daryl speaks, and the hair on the back of Faith's neck rises with every word. "One girl in all the world—a chosen one-"

"Son of a bitch," she mutters, realizing that Daryl's known about them all along, and that he's kept his knowledge a secret. "You fucking knew."

Rick looks to Daryl then at Faith—back and forth between their stare down, his hand gripping his gun. "Somebody better start talkin' sense."

Vi begins to speak.

"She alone will wield the strength and skill to fight the vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness," she continues, baffled that Daryl knows the slayer lore, but relieved that he appears to be an ally. "To stop the spread of evil and the swell of their number."

" _One_ girl," Daryl says, never taking his eyes off Faith, as Rick lets out a brief huff of ironic laughter then shakes his head. "Now there's two."

"There're… hundreds, actually," Vi says, eyes darting nervously between Faith and Daryl, while trying to keep her eye on Rick, too. "We activated everyone. That's why we're out gathering newly called slayers."

"This isn't about you, huh?" Rick says, pacing in front of Faith. He wants to wring her fucking neck, but seeing the fury rise within her as she glares at Daryl, he thinks better of it. "Sure as Hell sounds like it is to me!"

"We don't kill humans!" Vi shouts, her mind racing with the tension in the room. "We're here to protect you, but our assignment got screwed up-"

"You fucking knew this whole time, you sneaky, backwoods fuck!" Faith lunges for Daryl, but not before Vi can tackle her around the waist and take her to the floor. Rick pulls his gun, as Daryl calmly unfolds his arms to easily hang by his sides, then circles the girls. Faith is infuriated with his smugness.

"This won't get us anywhere, Faith!" Vi yells over the din of their struggle. "It's good that he knows. He's on our side!"

Daryl doesn't try to hide the fact that he's looking both girls up and down like he's buying a new car. He's been waiting for this moment, even though it didn't go down quite the way he wanted it to. His gaze lands solidly back on Faith, when she shoves Vi off of her and scrambles back against the wall.

"Fine!" she yells back at Vi, then turns her ire to Rick. "And you can take your fucking gun off me, it's not like I can't take a bullet."

"I like my gun right where it is," Rick says, staring down the barrel at Faith. "Keep talkin'."

The girls explain that they're not responsible for the outbreak, nor were any of their cohorts—that it was inevitable that the Senior Partners would try to take control. Momentarily satisfied that Faith isn't going to destroy the place, Rick finally puts his gun away. Daryl's still watching her intently.

"What about you?" Faith asks, nodding to Daryl. "Seems like you got some explaining to do yourself."

Daryl shrugs. "Kid I knew in junior high's uncle was into voodoo and shit. Told us stories sometimes. 'Bout magic and demons and slayers."

Faith scoffs and shakes her head, finally breaking eye contact with Daryl. She doesn't know why it makes her so angry, but he just keeps staring at her like he knows all her secrets, and she doesn't like it one bit.

"When I saw ya fight..." He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and shakes his head, watching Faith avoid his eyes, willing her to look at him again, wanting to know what she's thinking. "That crazy ol' man's stories all came back. Seein' what ya could do—no other explanation."

"You brought us here because you wanted our help," Vi says, trying to fill in the blanks. "Because you thought we'd have answers."

Daryl nods faintly, but Faith knows that isn't the only reason he brought them there. She knows he wants specific answers. She looks up at him again, holding his stare.

"The fuck y'all doin' wanderin' in the woods a Georgia, anyhow?" Daryl asks, shifting the focus off of his knowledge of the slayers and back on topic. "Can't ya like… assemble or somethin'? Take 'em all out at once?"

Faith rolls her eyes. "Doesn't work like that, baby." She stretches her legs out in front of her, leaning her head back against the wall, and closing her eyes in momentary defeat.

Daryl bristles and cocks his jaw at her smart mouth. "How does it work, then?" The way she talks to him—he can't decide if he loves it or it pisses him off, but not being able to decide on how he feels about it definitely pisses him off.

"What Faith is trying to say is, the walkers aren't our assignment," Vi says. "We're just supposed to be gathering up the newly called slayers for now."

Rick's expectant eyes dance back and forth over both girls, as Daryl's gaze continues to drill a hole through Faith, and she doesn't back down.

"We've got safe houses on every continent," Faith says. "We report to Angel up north, and that report is way overdue."

"Got magic radios or somethin'?" Daryl asks, and Rick scoffs.

Vi looks expectantly to Faith, because communication was Robin's job, and Robin is still a sore subject. Faith drops her head without answering, so Vi nods in answer.

"Mystical lines of communication," Vi says. "And we had strict orders, but Robin…"

"God, we were stupid," Faith says, running her hands through her hair. "Sloppy."

"Robin," Daryl says, his voice taking on the quality that Faith had heard the day before when he talked to his family. "He the guy I saw y'all with a couple days ago?"

Faith nods, looking him in the eye. They hold each other's gaze again, just as they have every minute they've been within each other's line of sight since they met, but something less antagonistic passes between them this time.

"Our orders were to locate the newly called slayers, and Robin ran 'em back to the safe house," Faith says. "All we had to do was eliminate obstacles—demon, zombie, whatever—along the way."

Rick looks at Daryl, and Daryl shakes his head. They share a long moment and a silent exchange. Faith is getting used to the way they communicate, but it doesn't mean she likes being left out. They also remind her of the importance of getting in touch with Angel as soon as possible.

"What's the big plan, then?" Rick asks, turning back to face her.

"Vaccination," Faith says. "And to find a place to settle and repopulate."

Rick squares off with Faith. "Take us to your safe house," he says.

"It's not that easy, Rick," Faith says.

"Why?" he asks, but she knows he's being hostile. "You got super powers, anything should be possible."

"You haven't been listening," she says, climbing to her feet and meeting him toe to toe. "The Senior Partners are watching. Every move. And they wanna take the world back."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere in this chapter, there's a brief reference to the song Love the Way You Lie by Eminem and Rihanna. If you hadn't figured it out from the title, I listen to both versions of Love the Way You Lie—a lot—while I'm writing. The general tone of the song is really what's inspired these two, though, so don't expect domestic abuse. I also may have watched this video (http://www.ebaumsworld.com/video/watch/81598432/) a couple (of hundred) times while writing the outline.

 

"If they know how to find ya, why ain't they comin' for ya?" Daryl asks, doubt tingeing his voice, but Faith isn't sure if he's frightened or just doesn't trust her.

She shakes her head, knowing how hard it will be to explain this to them. She doesn't even understand it herself, and she's overloaded them with so much shit all at once. Daryl may have known about slayers and magic, but she can tell by the looks he's throwing her that he wasn't counting on an evil law firm coming into the mix.

"They've got a way of tracking us," Faith starts to explain, exasperated that it isn't easier, and pissed at Daryl for intentionally dragging himself and his group into the mess. "But we don't know when or how—no idea how it all works."

Rick is clearly just as frustrated as she is as he runs both hands up through his wavy, salt and pepper hair. Faith notices his wedding ring then. She absently wonders about his wife, assuming she must be dead, then immediately brushing the thought aside, because she doesn't want to involve herself with these people's personal lives.

"Regardless of what we don't know or what you believe, I'm telling you, we can't just take the fuck off on a field trip," she says as she begins to pace. "We need clear objectives and a plan of attack. And you people need training for fuck's sake."

She cannot believe the words coming out of her own mouth. She knows she's never had a worse idea, but she doesn't see any other way. Part of repopulating will have to involve humans. She just has to figure out a way to keep them safe; she isn't ready for this step, yet.

"We?" Daryl asks, giving one of the best bitch brows Faith has seen since the last time she faced off with Cordelia Chase. "Thought you was bailin' on us, She-Ra."

Faith can think of about a million reasons why she should bail on them, why she should grab her shit and walk out the door—several of them having to do with the way Daryl is looking at her and the way everything he does makes her feel like tearing him apart or riding him until his knees buckle. The more practical reasons are the ones she needs to bring to light to solve their problems, though, but she's just so fucking tired of talking.

 _Should've fucking left when I still had the chance_ , she thinks.

"Didn't wanna break your heart, princess," she says with an eyeroll and a sarcastic smirk. "Gimme the rundown again of what you got here—number of people, ages and skills, weapons, all of it."

As Rick apprises her of the details, Daryl watches her move like a caged animal, cracking her knuckles and wringing her hands, her smooth muscles, rippling her skin and making the ink on her arms dance. He knows what it's like to feel trapped, divided, undecided. He can see that she's torn between staying to protect them, and leaving to protect them.

Daryl has an unfamiliar and irrational feeling to push her buttons more just to fuck with her, watch her squirm a little bit. He likes the way she looks and moves when she's pissed off. He'd like to touch her to find out the way she feels, too. Those are selfish desires, though, that won't further their cause—only satisfy his lustful curiosity for the girl.

Rick is done debriefing Faith, and she's stopped pacing. Her eyes are hard and her jaw is set, but she's still so fucking beautiful. Daryl's momentarily lost in trying to reconcile wants and needs that he doesn't understand and he's never really felt. He's stuck between wanting to fuck her unconscious, and follow her command—those two things don't really mesh in his head.

"Here's how it's gonna go down," Faith says. "You do exactly as I say, when I say it, no questions asked. I'm gonna need full access to your people, and all of your weapons. And when I say 'no' or 'go', you do it—get me?"

Faith eyes both men, arms hanging loosely at her sides. She's more relaxed than she's been in days. She guesses it's because she's finally made a decision—even if it's a terrible one.

Faith meets Daryl's gaze again, and she's suddenly pulled into that secret communicative way of his that he seems to share only with Rick. Yet there's something else there that she's sure he doesn't share with Rick—something warm that slides over her skin and settles in the pit of her stomach.

"Yes, ma'am," Daryl says, and Rick follows the affirmative with a nod.

"This was your plan from the start," Faith states rather than asks, and Daryl nods slowly. "Pretty big leap if you ask me—to think  _maybe_  we were that legend, and  _maybe_  we'd know what to do."

"Take risks everyday," he says with a shrug.

"You're desperate," she says.

"We're fightin' for our lives," Rick says. "And ya said it yourself—we're all dead. If there's a cure for this thing and a fresh start, I wanna find it with my family."

She tilts her head and can't help the wide throw-caution-to-the-wind smile that splits her face. She really hasn't felt hope in days, maybe even weeks, and it took a bedraggled band of humans to give that to her.

"Okay," she says. "Let's talk logistics."

They come to a temporary agreement that the girls will stay at the prison for the short term, helping provide for the group, hunting and giving basic training and insight on what they will need when they finally make the trek up north.

Faith still isn't convinced taking the whole group, especially the baby, on a thousand-mile trip, is the best idea, but she and Vi need the support just as much as Rick's group needs protecting. If she can guarantee their safety while she and Vi are in the prison and once they've gone, she'll gladly take Daryl with her to Minnesota, though. She'll cross the bridge of the entire group going when they come to it.

"How much of that protection mojo do you remember?" Faith quietly asks Vi as they pull the bunks off of walls to clear out and rearrange enough cells for everyone to have their own room.

"A fair amount," Vi answers. "Do you want a protection spell on the prison?"

Faith can hear Daryl moving outside the cell. He's bolting a couple frames together for Glenn and Maggie, since they've decided to share a room. She knows he's listening, and she knows he's pissy with her after she expressed concern about the baby making too much noise, so she's being as vague and subdued as possible with her direction. As fun as it is to fuck with him, she doesn't feel like going 15 rounds with Daryl Dixon today.

She nods in answer to Vi's question. "Maybe a glamour, too, while you're at it, but nothing too fancy, yeah?"

Vi nods.

The next few days are all about getting to know the rest of the group. Vi spends most of her time with Hershel and Carol, but she immediately gravitates toward Maggie and Glenn on a personal level. Her experience with Faith is either work hard, or party hard—there's never been an in-between with her, and Vi's just looking for some peer companionship.

She helps take stock of supplies, medicines, and remedies to determine what the group needs, will use and have used, and to get a general overview of their health status. It's clear that Hershel has a solid grasp on anatomy and medicine, but Vi has a fresher and broader perspective. She's able to project beyond basic survival—give them hope that they might prosper.

Vi's worried about Judith, though—does she carry the virus, and in what form? Vi has discussed it briefly with Faith, and was strongly advised to keep it to herself, because  _Dixon'll lose his shit if you say 'boo' to that baby_ ; but Vi knows sooner or later, they'll have to address her concerns.

Faith works with Rick and Daryl, continuing to clear the prison of bodies and debris—part of Vi's health assessment and initiative. They clean out the entire prison in less than three days.

The initial spark of attraction between Faith and Daryl grows exponentially and she's barely able to stand it. She's tried flirting, making suggestive comments, even light physical contact, but he's like a brick fucking wall. She can tell by the tension in his body and the bulge in his pants that she affects him, yet he resists every advance she throws his way.

He purposefully avoids being alone with her, too—never letting them be alone for more than mere minutes. He usually has Carl with them, which Faith thinks is just a low fucking blow, but he always does it under the guise of giving the kid a lesson in whatever they're doing at the time. Basically what ends up happening is Carl sitting open-mouthed and in awe of what Faith is capable of, and Daryl shaking his head and chuckling over the kid's obvious crush on her.

Faith lays awake some nights when Daryl's on watch, since he refuses to ever sit watch with her, listening for him to come back. Once she hears his light, careful steps, and the rustling of his clothes, then the sign that he's laying down to rest, she'll roll over to rest, herself—sometimes slipping her hand between her legs before she can finally sleep.

One by one, the others in the group approach Rick for an explanation about the girls' presence and their abilities. Hershel believes it's divine intervention, Carl thinks it's rad, but mostly the group believes they're par for the course in these times of destruction and mysterious turns of events.

Maggie and Glenn are both leery of the plan that Rick lays out for them. As much as they both like Vi, they are especially leery of Faith and traveling so far, if she'll even allow them to.

"You sure we can trust her?" Maggie asks. "I mean, I know we can always use a good fighter, and they don't seem to take up a lotta resources that they can't replace, but…"

"She snapped at Maggie in the shower the other morning," Glenn says to Rick, cutting to the chase, but Maggie doesn't appreciate his help.

" _Glenn_." Maggie scoffs, then looks at Rick again. "She didn't snap at me, she was just  _abrupt_."

"That's the same thing," Glenn says, looking baffled. He honestly doesn't understand why girls beat around the bush with this stuff; it's the end of the world, no one has time for Mean Girls routines.

Maggie gapes at him, and he throws his hands up as if to say  _what?_

Even their lover's spats make Rick miss Lori something awful.

"Well, abrupt or not," Rick gently cuts in. "She's a good fighter and she's gonna get us on the right track. I trust that this safe house of theirs is the key to a lot of our problems."

"But don't you think it could end up like all the refugee camps we heard about and when y'all went to the CDC?"

Maggie wraps her hand around Glenn's. The thought of losing another member of their family is devastating to her, and potentially leaving the security of the prison with total strangers doesn't appeal to her at all. She doesn't want to let Daryl go with them on their trek up north, either.

"Anything's possible," Rick says. "But we gotta keep movin' and keep the faith."

"Vi's cool," Glenn says, turning the conversation to something more positive. "She's really been a big help to Hershel, and she's into comic books."

Maggie looks at him for a minute then laughs and shakes her head, forgetting her earlier frustration with her boyfriend.

Daryl doesn't examine how hard he's been trying to avoid being alone with Faith. Regardless of the reason, it's for the best. She makes him feel uncomfortable in his own skin, and he's worked most of his adult life to feel as good as he does now; he won't abide by some barely legal bimbo, breaking his concentration and the bonds he's created with Rick and his group.

"You've been spendin' a lotta time with that pretty, little brunette," Carol says, and Daryl shoots her a look.

They're in the tower, keeping watch—each armed with a rifle. These times together are always thoughtful and comfortable. Carol is kind and funny, and she's a strong, beautiful woman inside and out. Daryl has felt honored to be in her presence as more than her watchdog, but as her equal. Now he feels guilty, like he's betrayed these quiet times together, with thoughts and words about the girl who haunts his dreams.

"Don't get any ideas; this isn't about me," she says with a teasing smile, then her brow creases slightly with concern. "I'm lookin' out for you. I know a little bit about that heart of yours, and I don't wanna see it get twisted."

"Pssh," he says, pulling his eyes away from hers and looking out over the vast, rolling hills that surround the prison gates. "It ain't like that."

Carol nods, watching him silently. Then she looks out at the landscape as well.

"At one time, this was a beautiful place to see," she says. "Not the prison, mind you, but this countryside. Now all we see is death, despair."

They're both quiet for a while again until Carol takes a different angle.

"I want you to have somethin', Daryl," she says. "And if it's with that girl, so be it. It's just… we've all seen how angry she is—so much anger for such a young thing."

He inhales and sighs deeply, then drops his gaze to his boots. He knows what Carol's not saying; they're like a tornado and volcano, and no one wants to see that disaster.

What he's really worried about when he looks at Faith, lets himself feel what she makes him feel, is feeling  _more_  and  _deep down to his bones_ , where he'll never be able to get it out. It makes him crazy that he loses control just by looking at her, and so he makes excuses for keeping her at arm's length— _she's too young, she's too mouthy, she thinks she's so fucking smart_ —until he can get that control back.

"It ain't wrong, what you're feelin'," Carol says. "Just take care, is all I'm sayin'."

Daryl nods quietly, and they go back to their nightly watch in silence.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it gets its rating.

Each day that passes, the group is more and more relaxed with the presence of the slayers. Hershel is thankful for and inspired by Vi. They laugh when he tells her he was a veterinarian, not a doctor, and she tells him that medicine and herbal remedies have always really just been a hobby. They agree that their situation is probably status quo these days—that this is the way the world begins.

Faith and Daryl continue their dance, Daryl keeping Carol's comments in the back of his mind. Today, they're dragging the last of the bodies and debris out into one of the side yards to burn. They've been using alcohol and hexamine tablets that they found in town to burn the bodies and debris. Nothing is entirely non-toxic, but they're trying to keep things as safe as possible.

Daryl still isn't used to everything Faith does setting his teeth on edge. He hates not knowing how to feel about her or why he feels the way he does. It isn't the attraction itself that confuses him—she's in-your-face gorgeous, and sexy as fuck—what's confusing is the fact that he likes her, respects her, even.

He's tried to tell himself that she's a bratty little girl—that she's trying to tempt him, trying to push him, make him bend to her will, like her toy. He doesn't want to accept that she's a full-grown woman with experience and skill and wisdom in all the areas that matter in the world they're living in, who commands his respect and his desire.

He's lived a life of trying not to assume anything when it comes to the weaker sex. For Daryl, being with a woman has usually been awkward at best, and hostile at worst, but it's always been out of necessity, and never with someone he knows well, cares about, or respects. He's certainly never been with a woman he called a friend or would agree to follow her lead.

He's never been good at shaking loose the memory of Merle's taunting voice, either, and that first time, when he was just 11-years-old, with Dolly Bronson, sitting topless and wide-eyed before he and his brother behind their neighbor's garage.

_Come on, ya little pussy. She wants it, or she wouldn't be here._

That doesn't matter anymore, though; Merle isn't here, and Faith is no victim. It's just easier for him to keep sex separate from everything else in his life—simple, practical, isolated.

"What about you, D?" Faith asks as she and Daryl toss the corpses onto a pile to make a bonfire. "Are you as anxious as Rick to move outta here?" She's testing the boundaries. Enough time has passed that she's going to have to address their trek to Minnesota soon, and she hopes that she can persuade Daryl to see things her way—see that it isn't safe to take the whole group. "'Cause I gotta tell you, now that we're getting this place cleaned up and fully locked down, it's pretty fuckin' sweet."

Daryl quietly side-eyes her, almost imperceptibly gnawing at the inside of his lip. Both of these mannerisms are things she's noticed he does as he carefully and swiftly assesses each situation he encounters. They've become so familiar to her in the short time she's been there, she finds them almost endearing. When he breaks their brief and tenuous eye contact with an impassive shrug, she's frustrated. She's really sick of his grade-school boy act, pulling her pigtails then running away. She doesn't get why he's playing this game, and it's starting to affect their work. She's suddenly very agitated with everything about him, including and especially the subtlety and sharpness of his response time, and the fact that he seems utterly indifferent to her sexual prowess.

"Cross that bridge when we come it, I guess," he says. "Don't see reason to leave any time soon—got 'nough to do 'round here."

Faith studies him out of the corner of her eye, as they work. She's fascinated with him, even though he pisses her off. He's everything she admires in a partner—his tracking and hunting skills and his natural intuitions and instincts are unparalleled, especially for a human. Then, under that generally rough exterior of the badass hunter and soldier is an overwhelming gentleness that she sees in his face and touch when he's with that tiny baby.

Faith has always been a big fan of the strong and silent type, but Daryl's almost a walking cliché; yet she can't deny what she sees, and how attractive she finds it all to be as it's wrapped up in that hella fuckable package. Even though he turns her on more than anybody has in a very long time, she reminds herself that she's been all work and no play since Robin left with the latest recovered slayer.

Still… she wants him, and he just keeps resisting.

She can't blame him for keeping things close to the vest, though—it's not like she's told him and Rick the exact location of the North American safe house, or what she really thinks about the plan to head up there. She just wants him to loosen up and have a little fun, and so far, he isn't responding to her more subtle attempts. She thinks maybe she should try something new.

"You're right—there's a shit ton to do, but… " she says, making a show of arching her back and stretching. She looks around the yard where they're working, and realizes no one's with them for the first time in ever, and she thinks fast enough to take advantage of the situation. "I still think we should try to reward ourselves now and then."

He shoots a sidelong glance in her direction, then quickly averts his eyes from the bared skin of her abdomen. He looks at the door to the prison and considers calling for Carl to come help, but he knows no one can hear them. His mind starts to race, so he tells himself what Merle would tell him:  _stop bein' such a pussy._

Faith follows his eyes to the prison door. She shrugs it off, closing the distance between them.

"You scratch my back, I scratch yours," she says, trying for not-so-subtle.

He shifts away, casually continuing his task, trying not to focus on how hard she's making his dick with just her soft, husky voice.

"Maybe I ain't got an itch," he says, reaching for the alcohol they use to burn the bodies. "Where's that lighter?"

Faith rolls her eyes, reaches in her pocket, and pulls out her Zippo.

"Come on, Dixon," she says. "Everybody's got an itch."

He stops what he's doing and narrows his eyes then looks her in the face.

"How the fuck ya know my last name?" he asks, the jug of alcohol clutched tightly in his hand.

Faith shrugs and shakes her head like he's crazy for asking. "Maggie told us."

He scoffs. "What for?"

He honestly has no fucking clue why Maggie would tell her what his last name is, and he's feeling irrational anger for her doing it. He thinks about how pissed Faith was that he knew about the slayer lore, and he begrudgingly guesses that they're even.

"I don't know—girl talk?" Faith says with a wry grin. "What's your problem, anyway?"

He continues to glare at her, but tries to regain his composure and focus on his task, tries to ignore her antagonizing him. He turns his attention back to the container in his hand and unscrews the cap. Faith straightens up and mocks a formal persona, extending her open hand toward him.

"Hi. My name's Faith Lehane. I'm from Southie," she says, and he sneers sideways at her hand. "I'm 22-years old, a high school drop out, lost my virginity to an ex-con when I was 15, and I couldn't give a shit less about long walks on the beach."

Her voice is sticky sweet and her words make his skin crawl. He doesn't know why she's telling him these things, especially the part about losing her virginity. There's a small part of him that wants to find that ex-con and beat the shit out of him, but there's a larger part of him that knows he would've done the same thing in a different time and place. He doesn't know why he's so fucking angry.

"Feel better?" She laughs, taking her empty hand back and flipping her lighter open.

"No." Daryl looks monumentally uncomfortable, and Faith tries not to laugh too hard, as he circles the pile of bodies, covering them in alcohol. "Why should I give a fuck about your last fuckin' name—or when you started whorin' around?"

"Ooooh, whoring around, huh?" she says, striking the lighter on her pants. "Are we a little testy about sexually liberated ladies,  _Dixon_?"

His muscles are starting to feel warm and loose and his jaw is tight; it's that feeling he gets right before a fight. He pulls in a deep inhale through his nose and recaps the bottle, because he needs to calm the fuck down. Besides, he knows better than to fight a fucking vampire slayer.

"Look, I've seen you eyeing my tits," she says, holding the flame under a ball of rags. "Trust me, I can tell when a guy wants to get to know me better."

"Wrong," he says, and his fists are clenching. He tells himself  _this is what the little bitch wants—to rile me up_. But he's not going to take the bait.

"I'm never wrong about sex," she says, watching the flames consume the bundle in her hand.

"Got a smart fuckin' mouth, little girl," he says quietly, furiously chewing on the inside of his lip, pacing away from her, watching her toss the ball of fire onto the pile of bodies.

"I think you and I both know, I'm not a little girl." She turns to face him with one eyebrow arched, and she's smirking so big that fucking dimple of hers is winking hard.

"Coulda fooled me," he says, standing still, willing himself not to approach her. "Fuckin' eggin' me on all the damn time."

"Oh, yeah, big man?" she says. "You're so above it, right? So mature and together?"

"What—I don't wanna fuck you, makes me not a man?" He starts to raise his voice, takes two or three steps, and suddenly they're barely two feet apart. "I can be plenty man,  _little girl_ , you just watch."

"Standin' right here," she says, opening her arms wide and taking a step toward him.

He finishes closing the distance between them.

"You're playin' with fire," he says, his voice suddenly deadly quiet.

"Yeah?" she asks, feeling his hot breath on her cheek and the pyre at her back.

He nods—slowly and with intent.

Her breathing deepens and her voice wavers with excitement and want; she loves having this affect on him.

 _I could just fucking_ take _him right here_ , she thinks.

They're toe-to-toe, and his voice is low and quiet in her ear. "That what you want—me to hurt you? 'Cause I can do that. Hurt ya real good. All ya gotta do is ask."

She drops her fingers into the waistband of his pants and he flinches, but she won't let him pull away.

"Isn't that how this all got started?" she asks, shifting her weight and feeling the warmth of his skin against the backs of her fingers. "Me asking, and you playing like you don't want in my pants?"

"I don't," he says, grabbing her wrist and twisting her hand away from his body. With her other hand she reaches out and pulls him toward her by the front of his shirt, crashing her mouth to his.

Nothing about what she's done shocks or surprises him, but he's still so fucking spun. He didn't want it to come to this—being with her like this, physically, out of bounds, no restraint. She's become an integral part of their group in such a short time. He knows this can't end well, but...

_Fuck it._

He yanks her wrist, and buries his other hand in her wild hair. He's using the energy he wanted to use to push her away, but now he's holding on tight.

Their mouths are wet with each other, and their bodies are slipping and twisting together as they land firmly against a wall. Faith pulls his bottom lip between her teeth and is hyperaware of how hard she's biting, but she knows he fucking loves it.

His hands are twining forcefully through her hair, then. The guilty part of his brain whispers this isn't right, but he doesn't want anything else the way he wants this—the way he wants to touch her and listen to the sounds that are coming out of her mouth. He wraps her hair around his fist and pulls it tight, to get her to make more noise.

 _Fuck_.

His mouth moves to her jaw, down her throat, and over her collarbone—his teeth leaving a wet, pink trail on her skin. He wants to draw blood and bruise her, he wants to hear her scream; and he's pretty fucking sure she wants it, too. Which is the part that really gets him going. He knows of all the things he wants to do to her, he can't really hurt her, and that she wants it all the same.

No, she isn't a little girl. His antagonistic remarks to her earlier, and his self-flagellation over the past several days are almost laughable at this point. He's wondering what took him so long to get here.

As his teeth sink into the soft swell of flesh, exposed by the low cut neckline of her tank top, she spins and slams his back against the cement wall. She pulls his shirt open and tastes as much of his skin as she can before he yanks her by her hair to meet his mouth with hers.

"We gonna do this here?" he asks through heavy breaths and grunts, shivering at the feeling of her hands and lips on his body, his scars, the things he doesn't show anyone.

She's a deadly weapon, literally meant for destruction. He smiles, suddenly, thinking of how fitting it is that the woman he's about to lay down with is one he can't break, the one who could break him with a slight flick of her wrist.

"Fuck yeah," she answers, pulling his pants open and kissing him again.

Daryl likes kissing her, but he's never been a kisser. She's soft and makes the kind of sounds that make him hard. She's aggressive and she takes what she wants, so he doesn't feel guilty about taking the same. She's so fucking different than any woman he's ever known, and his head is spinning with nothing but her in it, as he pushes her tank top up and pulls her bra down to expose her breasts.

"Giddy as a schoolgirl, Dixon?" she asks, thrilled when she sees the rare and beautiful smile on his lips.

She unbuttons and unzips her own pants, then kisses him again, so he can't answer her right away, but she loves the way his mouth changes, the way it feels when he smiles through their kiss.

"Somethin' like that." His answer is muffled, and his smile doesn't fade, even when he dips his head to take one of her nipples between his teeth.

She pushes her pants over her hips and down to her knees, then spins them again so her back is against the wall. There's a fence next to them, and Faith reaches for the lowest rung of the support to hoist herself up, her other hand braced on Daryl's shoulder. She pulls her knees toward her chest, and he throws her feet over one of his shoulders before moving in and guiding himself inside her with his other hand.

"Fuck," he says, full of breath and heat, holding her hip in one hand and splaying his other hand wide open against the wall beside her head. She's laughing and gasping, when he dives for her mouth again before even considering moving; he just wants to sit with this and enjoy it for a while.

"Yeah," he says, kissing her blissful mouth again and again.

He's so thrown by all the things he's felt about her since the minute he saw her in the woods and how it's gotten more intense and profound the nearer she is physically. But he's done hiding, avoiding, waiting—he's taking exactly what he wants and giving her what's she's been asking for.

"Told ya," she says, laughing and nipping at his lips. "Come on—fuck me."

"That 'one girl in all the world' shit went straight to your head, huh?" He shifts his weight and hers to get a better angle, so he's got the leverage, then pulls out quickly, but not all the way, before sliding slowly back inside. "Bossy little bitch."

"Whatever," she says, kissing him and loving that he's having fun for once—loving the way he feels. She knew he could do it; she just needed to get him to loosen the fuck up. "You love it."

He doesn't answer with words, he just kisses her back and makes some more noise, pulling back and pushing forward. He can't remember if he's ever felt anything like her before. He hasn't felt anything at all in a very long time, apart from his own hand. He wonders if this is just one more advantage of her special skills and attributes. He also wonders how pissed off she's going to be when he comes in 10 seconds—if she'll kick his ass across the yard and into the bonfire.

She's still holding the steel rung of the fence, but her other hand is roaming Daryl's neck and shoulder. She pushes it up into his hair and pulls.

"Harder," she says. She can feel the vibrations skittering over her skin, racing toward her belly, gathering and knotting. She knows she'll come any second if he'll just go harder.

Faith swears out loud, curling her hips forward, shortening the distance between them and the angle to just where she wants it. She grips the fence so hard it starts to bend.

He does just what he's told, then, pushes harder, but not as deep—slow, hard, shallow thrusts; and the weight of him against her, inside her, holding her against the wall, is exactly what she needs.

"Son of bitch!"

Her voice, seeing the metal twist and disintegrate in her hand just before she wraps both of her arms around his neck, and feeling her muscles spasm around him are too much. The sight of it is so surreal, like he's watching it on a television screen; but the way she sounds and feels is very, very real.

He can't hold on anymore, and there's no reason to. He braces her fully against the wall, kisses her again, long and hard, and they're both coming.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks to einfach_mich for the suggestion of the Whedonesque exchange between fanboy Carl and Faith the Vampire Slayer. ILY

"So, you have superpowers."

The sun is shining, the smoke from the bonfire has settled, and Carl is helping Faith move the prison equivalent of a picnic table into the sunniest patch of the yard. Really, he isn't doing much except watching her move the table all by herself; he's fascinated, nonetheless.

Faith drops the table and shrugs. "Kinda—yeah."

She gives Carl a small, distracted smile, but her eyes keep going back to Daryl, where he stands on the other side of the yard with Rick.

Daryl hasn't taken his eyes off her, either. His body's still humming from the all too brief work over she gave him minutes before Rick and Carl joined them in the yard. His mind is racing, too, and he's starting to spiral into something that feels like regret.

She can sense his slight retreat into himself, but Faith wants more—again, now, harder and longer this time. Carl's still watching her, though, and that makes her feel weird.

"Cool," Carl says, still consumed with Faith's superpowers, as he bobs his head, making the sheriff's hat swing forward and back.

"Hey, Supergirl," Daryl calls out to her, but he already has her undivided attention. "What next?"

Faith ponders how to answer Daryl's question—partly because what she really wants to say is socially unacceptable, and partly because she doesn't really know what's next, since she has no intention of readying the entire group for the Minnesota trip.

She glances down at Carl, and he grins up at her. She's used to everyone in their group, including Rick, treating the kid like he's one of the adults, and he can certainly handle a weapon, but Faith still feels awkward talking about training and plans around him. She's always felt less than appropriate around children, though, even when she was one herself, so this feeling isn't exactly new.

She pats the kid on the back, and they head across the yard to meet Daryl and Rick.

"This seems like a decent place for training," she says, then looks down at Carl. "What do you think?"

She surprises even herself by asking Carl his opinion—not that it matters much, because she's really just stalling, and playing along; some would say she's being deceitful, but she chooses to feel diplomatic about it.

She waits for the kid's answer, and allows herself to be distracted by Daryl's hands, as he slides his thumbnail between his teeth.

He remembers how she bit him; his bottom lip is still throbbing from the pressure, and he swallows thickly, thinking about her strength and her skill. He meets her eyes—swirling pools of caramel and toffee and honey and other sweet things. Her eyes look innocent, but Daryl fucking knows better.

Carl is uncharacteristically bashful, not answering Faith's question. Rick smiles down at his son and nods.

"I like the table out here," Rick says. "And I think everybody else will, too. Maybe we should bring a couple of other tables out here—make a sittin' area?"

Rick goes on to hypothesize the chances that their activities will attract walkers. Carl chimes in to impress Faith, and makes the comment that they can use any opportunity for shooting practice. Daryl and Faith stand there staring at each other, and are oblivious to Carl's obliviousness, while Rick quickly becomes aware of their stare down.

"Carl," Rick says. "Why don't you and me head back inside, look for Carol and Beth, see how they're doin'. Let Faith and Daryl handle the rest a this stuff."

She tries to focus on what Rick is saying, but it seems so unimportant. She nods in agreement, though, tries to come off as authoritative in her agreement, while relishing the feeling of Daryl's eyes raking over her body. She can almost feel his hands twisting in her hair and his tongue sliding against hers. He matched her stroke for stroke in every way, but their time together was way too short. She twists and stretches under his attention, and it boosts her mood until it's spinning in the air.

Still clueless to his unwelcome presence, it's obvious that Carl doesn't want to leave Faith's side; he looks as close to pouting as Daryl's ever seen. Daryl almost feels bad for the little guy. Yet he can't bring himself to care. The sudden appearance of the kid and his dad, and the size of the hard-on in Daryl's pants aren't exactly compatible.

"Yeah," Daryl says. "Me and _Lehane'll_ get this shit banged out in no time."

Faith's mouth goes dry with the sound of the word  _bang_  coming out of Daryl's mouth in reference to something they'll be doing together. She can't remember the last time she was this stoked about hooking up. Daryl is, hands down, her favorite and most anticipated score to date; and she's looking forward to another round.

Rick can't get his kid away from Faith and Daryl fast enough, when Daryl grabs Faith by the hand and pulls her in the opposite direction.

Faith loves his grip, hot and tight against her skin, as he starts to lead her down a corridor and away from the familiar sounds of the other people in the prison. She decides they've gone far enough, even though she can still hear Rick's voice, but she's done waiting, and  _doesn't she have better hearing than they do, anyway?_

She grabs the back of Daryl's shirt and pulls him into her body, then pushes him against the wall. She hears him grunt when his back slams into the concrete, and hopes she hasn't broken anything.

"You okay, princess?" she asks, not really caring about the answer as she covers his mouth with hers.

"Hold up," he mutters around her lips in opposition, but his hesitance lacks conviction; his hands betray his words as they slide over her slight hips, his fingers teasing her muscular thighs. "Can't just go fuckin' up against the wall again."

"Why not?" she asks. "Didn't hear you complaining last time."

"Someone'll see us, or hear, us or somethin'," he says, kissing her and running his nose along her jaw, and his tongue around the shell of her ear. "Also, we gotta talk about—we don't need another little ass kicker runnin' 'round here."

"I'm covered." Faith grins, pointing to the implant in her skin. "Requirement. Repopulation's in another phase of the plan, and doesn't necessarily include slayers, so..."

Daryl looks less hesitant, but still awkward, and Faith finds his discomfort interesting and annoying. She has no idea why he's suddenly feigning virtue or propriety, especially because she knows what she experienced with him 20 minutes before is just the tip of the filthy fucking iceberg with Daryl Dixon. She shivers at the potential of what he's sure to be hiding up his sleeve.

Regardless, she decides to try and placate him.

"Okay, princess," she says, reluctantly pushing away from where she has him pinned against the wall, running her hands over his shoulders and down his bare arms, then lightly clasping her fingers around his wrists. "Where to, then?"

"That way." He gestures toward an empty cell about five paces away from the sounds of the others.

She takes one of his hands in hers and walks down the corridor, then spins them both and pushes him inside the vacant cell. He falls down onto the bottom bunk, flat on his back, his hands thrown carelessly open next to his head.

"Gotta pay attention," Daryl says, as she climbs astride his hips and begins to unbutton his shirt. "We ain't kids, ya know."

She knows what he means, but it sounds ridiculous the way he's saying it. He's so fucking consumed with being careful and cautious, and he's starting to pull back to where he was before they went out to the side yard—uptight and stressed and worried that having fun and enjoying each other will get them into trouble.

Faith isn't going to let him pull away, though.

"Speak for yourself, old man," she replies, teasing him for his wavering and hesitation.

She's still grinning ear-to-ear, dimples deep, as she pulls his shirt open, but her smile softens when the sun from the high windows of the corridor outside the cell beams across the deep scars covering the skin of his torso.

"Besides," she continues quietly, running her fingers over his chest. "You're the one who pulled me down the hall—make up your fucking mind."

She leans forward and gently places kisses in the path of her fingers. Her long, soft hair tickles his skin, and Daryl lets go of his reservations and the whispering of regret. He palms the back of her head, holding her in place, then closes his eyes and hums into her kiss.

"I wanna see ya," he says, and his voice is almost a whisper. He doesn't know if anyone can hear them, but that isn't why he's quiet; he just doesn't have the courage yet to be loud and proud with honest declarations of something so familiar.

Yet, there's something about Faith that gives him the confidence to take that first step. Is it because he knows she won't ridicule him? Hell, no; he's counting on her to give him all kinds of shit. The fact is, he knows she won't regret it.

Once she's kissed every inch of bare skin she can find, swiping her tongue over old wounds and faded words, she rests her cheek on his chest. She can almost feel vibrations emanating from the road map of ink and scars that covers his body. Part of her feels an obligation to ask  _who_  and  _where_  and  _how_ , but a bigger more dominant part of her knows whatever the answers, they really don't matter.

She peers up at him, hands resting on his ribcage, and her face resting in his hands. They stare for a beat. Daryl is really good at saying a million important things without using a single word, and Faith loves the confident silence more and more every minute they share. But she also likes playing with him.

"I'll show you anything you want," she says, taking his hands in hers and guiding them over her throat and chest, down to her hips, as she sits upright, straddling him. She squeezes his hands to keep them on her hips before releasing them and pulling her tank top over her head. "Is this what you want?"

He didn't have time to notice when they were in the yard, but she's wearing a flimsy, see-through bra. Daryl can see the darkness of her hard nipples through the fabric, and his fingers tighten on her hips. He pulls her forward slightly, making her grind over the sizable bulge in his pants, making them both groan.

She quickly unfastens the bra and tosses it to the side with her tank top.

"This?" she says, cupping her breasts and pinching her nipples, making them harder, then letting her breasts bounce.

"All of it," he says, his hands going to the button of her jeans, then working the zipper down. "I wanna see it all."

She can't really blame him for being greedy since she just took an oral tour of his torso. Plus, his clear insistence that she be completely naked, contrasted with his previous hesitation that they even kiss, is a huge fucking turn on.

She rolls off of him and makes quick work of her boots and jeans, watching him do the same out of the corner of her eye. She's faster, so just as he sets his pants and boots aside, she's already pushing him to his back and straddling his hips again—their heads are at the top of the bed.

He randomly traces the ink on the side of her hip and her arms, his fingers heating and puckering her skin, then leaving a chill as they move from spot to spot. She lets him take one of her nipples in his mouth, and she knows he's thinking the same things she was earlier, judging by the look of resolute fascination that covers his face.

He's so intense all the time, which makes her enjoy his gentle touch and the up close view of the true softness of his expressions even more. His tongue, and even his teeth, are almost gentle on her sensitive nipples. She watches the sun stripe across his skin and eyes, and the pure blue is flecked with silver in such a way that they remind her of one of Willow's crystals.

He stops her from staring a hole through to his soul when he grabs her face and pulls her down for a long, slow kiss. She moans into his mouth, and plants her hands on the mattress on either side of his shoulders, her thumbs sliding against his skin in time with his tongue sliding against hers.

He kisses her, as she drags one of her hands down his chest and stomach, then grips him hard, fumbles briefly, and steadily guides him inside her. They both sigh with relief—finally, again. The first time in the yard wasn't enough, and Daryl's starting to wonder if anything ever will be.

"Why do ya taste so good, huh? And feel so good," he says. He's fascinated with her mouth and her cunt, and the fact that he's never liked sex this much—or at least not quite in this way. "Fuck, I could eat ya up."

He wants to consume her, wholly—not just fuck her, not just come. He feels like the more he touches her and tastes her, and the deeper he gets inside her body, the more he wants from her, so he just keeps taking. His hands become more insistent and persistent in her hair, and she groans from the pleasure and the pain spreading over her scalp.

She's hot and wet everywhere, especially between her thighs. She's slick against him, as he kicks at the balled up fabric of their discarded clothes and sighs into her desperate mouth. Something tangles around his foot, and he yanks. They both hear the loud rip, and know that one of them will be out an article of clothing, but neither seems to care.

She sits upright again, reaching above her head and grabbing one of the bars under the top bunk for balance. She starts a different rhythm, swiveling her hips while she moves up and down, taking him in and out of her body. His hands frame her hips, and his thumbs hover, just in front of her clit, giving her something to rub up against on each pass.

"That's it," she says with a smile, throwing her head back and arching her neck. "Fuck yes."

"Yeah," he says, echoing her sentiments, and letting her take the lead.

He feels her spasm around him, and it's really fucking intense, but he wants to dive deeper into the abyss with her, so he clamps his eyes shut tight and wills himself not to come yet.

Her hands slip from the bar overhead, and she folds her body over his, burying her face in his neck. He settles his hands on her ass and squeezes lightly, then pats her hip a few times, shifting his weight.

"Come on," he says. "I ain't done yet. Turn around."

"Damn, Dixon, you hold up good for an old dude," she says, slowly dragging her body off of his, and his from inside her.

She smirks over her shoulder at him, spinning on her knees to face the foot of the bed. His eyes travel her bare, glistening skin as he kneels behind her and wraps one arm around her waist. He pulls her body flush to his, then grabs a handful of hair, twisting the mass of chestnut waves around his wrist, remembering the sounds she made when he did it before, and loving the silken feeling of it against his skin.

Daryl uses his lips and tongue and teeth on the back of her neck, and the sensitive curve that joins her neck to her shoulder, then drapes her hair over the opposite side and down her front, dragging his fingers over her breasts on the way down between her legs.

He hums, slipping two fingers around her clit in a vee. "I wanna see just how tight you can get."

She reaches back, grabbing him by the hair and pulling him in for a kiss. "Think you can handle it?"

"Show me what ya got." He pulls away from her kiss, releasing her waist, then gives her one quick shove between her shoulder blades until she's on all fours.

She flips her hair to look at him over one shoulder, and she's grinning like the Cheshire fucking Cat, wiggling her hips and spreading her legs; but he doesn't want her legs spread.

Daryl straddles her knees, and pushes them together with his own. He runs his hands from her shoulders to her hips, squeezes and smacks her, then holds her steady with one hand while he guides himself inside her body once more.

There are several faint, pink stripes across her back. He wonders how they got there, or, really, how they stayed, considering her ability to heal so fast. He traces the lines with his fingers, feeling the shiny, puckered skin, and watches her muscles ripple under his touch.

He starts to thrust, slow and hard, testing how deep he can go before he hits bottom, testing what kind of sounds he can get her to make, planning to test all of her boundaries every chance he gets, and his mind is spinning with possibilities and sensations. He reaches for her hair again and pulls tight.

"Got a hair fetish, Dixon?" she asks, gasping for breath as he severely arches her neck. He loves having her throat open, loves how vulnerable she is, that she's allowing this.

She's the ultimate fucking prey, and none of the implications of what this means are lost on him. He's high off the triumph of having her; the thought of the power that lies beneath him is utterly intoxicating.

He's fucking her so hard, then, that they're both grunting uncontrollably, involuntarily, gleefully.

"Shit, Daryl," she says, and her voice is throaty and loud. He can't help but smile for making her get so loud.

"Hush now, girl," he says, leaning forward and moving his hand from her hair, around to her cheek, dipping his middle and ring fingers over the front of her bottom teeth, and tugging. "Don't wanna be wakin' that baby."

She drops her chin to her chest, and he drops his forehead to her shoulder—one hand guiding her hip, and the other balancing on the metal footboard of the bed. Faith reaches one hand up to join his in front of her, entwining their fingers, then slips her other hand between her legs.

Within seconds, she's coming again, and Daryl can't hold out this time. He doesn't want to, either. He wants to fall with her, wherever she lands. Then, suddenly, everything is narrowing and tightening, straining and white hot—and then they both explode.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.

"Christ." Daryl breathes heavy and arches over her back.

Faith drops both hands to the mattress below them, bracing their weight. She slowly raises her head, feeling the side of his jaw scruff against her cheek, as he burrows his face into the crook of her neck.

"There's more where that came from." She laughs, and he groans in response.

"Mercy," he says, shifting his weight and pulling back.

"Right—like you won't be beggin' for more," she says, kneeling upright, then turning to sit with her back to the footboard, looking for her clothes.

Daryl is as reluctant as Faith is to put his clothes back on, but he grabs the wadded up balls of fabric from where they're strewn all over the floor and bed, and tosses Faith her tank top and pants.

"Gotta check in with Rick," he says, eyeing her sideways and licking his lips, as he watches her shimmy into her jeans. "Ain't no way he don't have questions 'bout us out in the yard."

Faith rolls her eyes. She hasn't checked in with Angel in days, and she knows she should, but the world has ended anymore than it was before because of it.

"Do you always do what Rick says?" She pulls her tank top over her head and her long, thick hair out from where it catches under the racer-back.

"Ain't the point," he says, pulling his pants up and staring at her like she's a ghost. He's defensive, because she reminds him of Merle when she talks like that. If he's honest with himself, this is the first time he's ever acknowledged being defensive with regard to his brother, but he knows that it's true—and not just in the darkened recesses of his self-conscious mind. He knows Merle would give him all kinds of shit for following Rick's lead, and he'd wind up having to defend his choice of action.

Daryl knows where the defensiveness comes from—his desire to stay connected to Rick; Rick and the rest are family now. It isn't about who's in charge or who's following, but  _shit changes in the blink of an eye 'round this place._

Daryl keeps defending his actions inside his own head, and starts to feel crazy and stupid, for  _giving a shit what this bitch thinks_.

"Do what ya gotta do, I guess." Faith shrugs and shoves her feet into her boots, then turns to leave the cell.

"It ain't what I  _gotta_  do," Daryl says, blocking her exit. "Maybe you don't know what it's like to have family, but that means more t'me than rank or powerplay bullshit."

Faith bristles at his words and sudden ice in his tone. She's always been good at shutting people out, herself, but she hasn't been shut out like this since she first got to Sunnydale, and Buffy made sure she knew she didn't belong—when she tried to open up to Buffy and was denied access herself.

She struggles with telling Daryl to go fuck himself for thinking he's getting one up on her, and jacking him in the face because he really is. He's doing this to fuck with her, she knows it, everybody does it, but it doesn't make it easier to swallow. It's obvious that he knows where all of her buttons are, and not just the ones that make her come. Faith doesn't know why he's doing it, exactly, but she's not going to stick around long enough to find out.

"Look, I may not be  _inbred white trash_ ," Faith says, looking him up and down with the best expression of disdain she can muster, when she's got a world of emotion swirling through her mind and heart. "But I know what it's like to have family. I've got about eighteen hundred sisters out there that say I know a helluva lot about family!"

Daryl's eyes narrow as he watches her fidget, and he braces himself for more of her wrath. He's hit her where it hurts, and he knows it. He respects her strength, and where she came from, but she's been evading everything important since she strolled through the prison gates, and he can't sit by and watch her disrespect or ignore his family. He wants her to just come out with it, already, whatever it is she's got planned.

Also, he can only assume she's got more retort in her than calling him white trash—like he hasn't heard that one before—and he wants to see that side of her, too.

Faith shrugs, feigning indifference or nonchalance, but she looks way too anxious for not caring. "At the end of the day?" she says. "I do what  _I_  want."

Daryl shakes his head, and Faith can see him looking right through her. She doesn't know who she's putting on this act for, because it's obvious Daryl isn't there to buy it. Everything coming out of her mouth is bullshit, because she's done nothing but care since losing all those girls at the arsenal in Sunnydale, and nothing but agonize since Robin's death in the woods, over exactly this question—should she follow or lead?

"Thinkin' 'bout how those superpowers make you better'n anybody else in the world?" he asks with a sneer, inching in closer, and the tension between them from the yard and the woods and every other minute before they touched is back in full force. "Make you above us all, lookin' out  _just for you?_  Is how you're sure to fuck up—sure to  _lose people_."

Faith has learned this exact lesson more than once before, yet she refuses to accept it coming from Daryl's mouth. She clenches her fists and watches him flinch at her action almost imperceptibly. She's as impressed as she is pissed off with his audacity—she'll give him that much. She doesn't take the punch that's itching her gut, though; she takes a breath instead.

"You don't know shit about how we lost Robin, Daryl," she says, her voice deadly quiet—feeling shaky, but sounding strong. She's well-practiced and successful at this exact game, after all. "So shut your fucking mouth."

She and Daryl both hear Rick moving outside the cell; he's cautious, and he's listening. His presence doesn't change anything, though, because Daryl's going to finish what he started. Faith's been talking like she runs the show, and he won't let her make any decisions about his people without considering everything first, without talking to Rick. He'd rather she left than choose their destiny for them—maybe that's what she's getting at.

"I ain't talkin' 'bout Robin," Daryl says, moving in closer, crowding her. She thinks maybe he's trying to prove that he isn't scared of her—not that she's ever questioned his apparent lack fear about anything. "I'm talkin' 'bout the people who count on me to look out for them, and who look out for me."

"If you don't wanna be part of that," he continues, already second-guessing the utterance of his next words. "Then you ain't got a place here,  _Southie trash_."

Rick's just outside the cell with his revolver drawn when Faith barrels through the door. She almost hits him, but misses with an agile turn and dashes down the corridor.

Once she disappears from sight, Rick turns to see Daryl bracing himself with arms open wide in the cell doorway, hanging his head. He takes a breath, wondering what to say to Daryl, then shifts his weight and reholsters his gun, not moving any closer. He can feel the tension and frustration rolling off of his lieutenant.

Rick is about out of patience with the Daryl and Faith Show, though, yet he needs Daryl to be focused, and he needs Faith to behave; and neither of them respond well to authoritative aggression.

Daryl takes a couple of deep breaths, then slowly nods before looking up at Rick. "Said some things-"

"I heard 'em," Rick says, letting Daryl lead for a minute.

Then both men are quiet for a beat.

Daryl wonders if Rick overheard some of the cruder things that went down with Faith. Much of what happens in the prison, or since the virus hit, isn't very private anymore. He also wonders how much longer Rick will stay silent and keep his gun holstered with Faith flying off the handle all the damn time. Daryl also knows that these girls—both of them—mean a lot to Rick and this group.

"What all'd you hear?" he asks.

"Enough," Rick says. He's talking about before the argument as well as the argument itself, but then he switches the subject back to the matter at hand. "That girl needs a lesson in teamwork if ya ask me, but that's another conversation…"

Daryl nods. Then he shakes his head and starts to almost laugh. He feels ridiculous for playing with her. He could be her father, and she acts like a  _fucking brat kid_.

"You're not wrong, ya know," Rick says, like he's reading Daryl's regrets. "She's a grown woman. Coulda left last week, but she didn't."

Daryl looks back up at Rick and thinks. What Rick is saying is surely true, and Daryl starts to wonder why Faith would choose to stay. It's been a while since he's had the luxury or wanted to think about the  _whys_  of anything, so he takes the opportunity to do it right then.

* * *

Faith loads up with her knife and her crossbow, and jumps the fence before Axel can even get the gate open. She tries not to think about the dream she had or the things Daryl said. She tries not to think about Robin.

She runs five miles out until she isn't thinking of anything, then finds a stream to wash her face and hands. She's sweating, but she isn't tired, and her mind starts to race again.

She wants to scream and yell, but she also wants to be alone, and that kind of noise will definitely attract the walking dead. Then she thinks maybe that's what she needs—the rush and the crunch.

Her eyes scan the woods surrounding the stream, but she knows she's alone. There's nothing but her and woodland creatures for miles. She thinks about hunting then, and even though it's not on Rick's hunting schedule, she decides to look for something to kill.

Whatever she takes back to the prison won't be enough of a peace offering, though. She knows Rick heard every word she said, and she knows she has to address the trek to Minnesota—sooner rather than later. She also knows she's walking a fine fucking line with Rick—that pretty soon he'll call her on the carpet; and she's pretty fucking sure that's a fight she won't easily enjoy winning.

 _How the fuck did I get myself into this?_  she thinks.

She should have taken Daryl out that very first day—that first day when Robin died. She should have taken him out and headed back north with Vi, and they wouldn't be in this mess. She and Vi could've made it without their help—without their friendship.

She's fooling herself; she's disgusted that she would even think of taking Daryl out as a simple solution to her fucking stupidity and ineptitude at leadership. Besides, she and Vi were both dead on their feet. They did need Rick's group—they needed a place to sleep and food. They could have made it back to Minnesota without it, but they wouldn't have been any good to Angel once they got back; their recovery time would've been insane…

Her thoughts continue to dip and spin, and Faith is totally fucking pissed at herself for being a worthless excuse for a leader, when she finally spots a buck about a hundred yards off to her left. She moves fast and positions herself to take the shot.

On her way back to the prison, the buck slung over one shoulder and her crossbow over the other, her thoughts slow and glide—they start to settle, and she can't help but think of one of her many conversations with Buffy before she left with Vi and Robin.

" _We're not alone anymore," Faith said._

_Buffy nodded in agreement, as they watched Angel conduct rudimentary training with a handful of fledgling slayers._

" _No, but we still have to lead," Buffy said with a pointed look._

" _Yeah, but… it's easier just knowing, right?" Faith said. "I mean the hardest part before was feeling alone. I felt it back at your house, especially after I lead those girls into a death sentence at the arsenal, even before The First sucked Sunny-D into the ground—it was like nothing I'd ever felt."_

_Buffy nodded again, and she looked small and sad—smaller than Faith remembered her ever being._

" _Ask Angel," Buffy said, nodding toward their current head of operations. "It's not just a slayer thing; it's a leader thing. He's carrying the weight of the world right now because of choices he made over a year ago."_

Buffy sounded like she was figuring it out for herself, right on the spot, but Faith was still figuring it out in her head on her way back to the prison. There's nothing simple about being a leader, and it's never the same shit twice.

Buffy was  _The_  Chosen One, but she still got hormonal and emotional and fucked her vampire boyfriend—a vampire whose crazy-ass curse was broken by their special night, and who then went on a killing spree.

Angel wanted to do what was right for everyone, and he made choices that hurt people—people he loved—and those choices still haunt him, especially now that the SPs unleashed this virus on humanity. Yet, he gets up everyday, and he's the one they all look to for direction; he's the one who makes the hard choices for them.

The first shot Faith had at leadership—at partnership—she fucked up. Instead of being patient, and trying to understand why Buffy would shut her out, she put Buffy on the defense, and ultimately became her enemy. Sure, she was just a kid, but she knew, deep down, that she was wrong, and just kept on pushing. She acted from a place of hurt, keeps on doing it, but for what? What has she got to lose anymore?

It's literally the end of the fucking world, and she has a mission and a pretty damn good start to a team to achieve that mission—not to mention she just might have a legitimate partner for the first time in her life. She just might have a partner who she can teach and learn from, grow with. She knows she can make the changes needed, but she has to focus and look outside herself.

As she approaches the prison gate, and Axel lets her in, Faith knows what she's going to do. She sees Vi across the main yard with Glenn and Maggie, and calls out to her.

"Hey," Vi calls back, jogging over to meet Faith. "Wow—what a catch!"

Vi looks thrilled, and Faith feels accomplished—feels good about doing something right.

"Hey," Faith says, shifting the buck and clearing her throat. "I've been thinking about the trip a little more."

Vi's vibrant smile grows a bit more serious, and she closes the gap between her and Faith. "And?"

Faith nods. "You're right," she says.

Vi's eyebrows shoot straight up in amazement, because Faith basically just admitted that she was wrong. Vi's smile comes back in full force as she listens to Faith's next sentence.

"Angel's gonna need to see Judith," Faith says.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: While writing this chapter, I had one of those fucking perfect heart-to-heart convos that you have with your sister, or your soul mate, or your pre-reader; so I have to leave some public love for OneLilHopeful because she just gets 1) me, 2) my crazy writing process and the value of our friendship, 3) this fic, 4) and the characters that she and I mutually love. xoxoxxx, my friend.
> 
> This fic, as I've mentioned before, veers off into AU just after Hounded. That said, I have no plan of including Merle Dixon, and this Rick Grimes isn't the one who sees Lori haunting C-Block in her wedding dress… let's just pretend he's gotten a few decent nights sleep and eaten a sandwich, okay?
> 
> Disclaimer: All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.

"Rick," Faith calls out when she finally finds him in one of the corridors, relieved to find him without Daryl.

Then he turns his unsettlingly unreadable gaze on her, and Faith shifts uncomfortably.

Faith is pretty sure that Rick wears a white hat—that he wants to do the right thing. Yet, she's also pretty sure he'll do just about anything to get the right thing done. He reminds her of Buffy in his intentions, but of Angel in execution. He's another animal altogether, though—one which she isn't quite sure, yet, how to approach.

She can take almost any kind of assault, she's a slayer for fuck's sake, but she likes to at least know what she's getting into, going in. She's been watching him for days, but Rick doesn't give anything away, which may be why she's avoided him and this very conversation.

"Faith," Rick answers with a nod of his head in that southern gentleman way of his.

While Faith doesn't know whether she can trust Rick not to put a hatchet through her skull, Rick trusts her as much as Daryl has asked him to—for now. Unfortunately, it's pretty clear to him that she isn't used to being trusted at all, let alone as quickly and easily as he and Daryl have.

Rick doesn't much appreciate as volatile as she's been since her arrival, but Faith is a simple creature really. He knows she wants what most people want—to be happy. She wants to feel success and she wants to feel appreciated. She wants to be wanted, included, and acknowledged.

He can see that she's easily frustrated by rules that she doesn't understand, and she doesn't have any apprehension with showing that frustration in any means necessary. She seems to have accepted and respects her mission to protect the innocent from evil, yet she has a very hard time relating to those innocent people—or anyone, really.

"We need to have a little powwow—talk about next steps for real," Faith says, like they've been in the middle of the conversation for the past several days—like they just need to finalize a few minor details.

She seems to be trying to maintain the control that he relinquished to her when they first talked about training the group in the prison to travel north to where her headquarters is located. She's not being hostile, per se, but she's definitely keeping him at more than arm's length, and not really looking him in the eye.

Faith reminds Rick of Daryl, when he first met him less than a year before. He doesn't want to assume anything about her motivations or how she might react to certain situations, though. Yet, he has a feeling that Faith, as tough as she is, might be a little bit afraid of the unfamiliar aspects of their daily grind at the prison, and how it might affect the group's journey.

"'Bout takin' the group? What're ya thinkin'?" he asks, casually crossing his ankles and bracing his forearm against the doorway of an empty cell, in an attempt to appear less aggravated than he actually is over Faith's general attitude and stalling tactics.

He's patiently watched Faith hedge the issue of moving forward in any direction for days, and he's tired of her hesitance, regardless of her fear of the unknown. Her current approach is refreshing, to say the least, but he can still see her guard is half up, ready to slam shut at any given moment. He's just trying to give her a boost of confidence by laying the groundwork for a direct conversation about the trip.

Faith starts to fidget and drops her eyes down and to the left. She nods in affirmation, though, as if she's trying to make him think she wants the same thing he does. Rick knows that she does want the same thing he does—she just doesn't know exactly what that is.

"I'll grab Vi, you grab D—we'll get together and talk it through, yeah?" she says, then clears her throat and shuffles her feet, squinting at the sun that blocks her ability to avert her eyes from Rick for too long.

He can see that she's uncomfortable with this conversation on a significant level, which pleases him even more, that she would broach the topic. He wonders if she's ever comfortable with challenges or confrontations that aren't physical in nature.

The similarities between her and Daryl are maybe what draw them together, but Rick thinks their differences are probably a stronger pull—because they can balance each other.

He nods, accepting Faith's proposal of a meeting.

"Sounds good to me," he says, then uncrosses his ankles and stands upright, facing her head-on. "Cafeteria in 30 minutes?"

Faith nods her head once. "Perfect."

* * *

After Rick left Daryl alone, Daryl contemplated Faith's motivations for staying, and came to the conclusion that he and Faith aren't so different. She's resistant to admit or acknowledge it, but there's a part of her that wants to be part of the group, even if she doesn't understand it intellectually.

Daryl feels less annoyed by her and the situation, but more obligated to do something to make things right between them, and he feels like an even bigger asshole for digging at her about family. He doesn't know what she's been through, but he does remember her making a crack about her dad "doing time for murder" before the virus.

No, maybe they aren't so different after all.

Daryl's drying off with a clean towel when he hears Rick's familiar cadence in the corridor outside the showers. Rick enters the room without preamble and informs Daryl that Faith came to him, talking next steps. Then he tells Daryl that he has no intention of getting out of that conversation without specifically addressing the trip up north.

"Twenty minutes?" Rick asks Daryl when he can be ready.

"Ten," Daryl says. "Meet ya there."

Both men arrive at the same time, at least 10 minutes early to the cafeteria, and the girls haven't yet arrived.

"We gonna listen first," Rick says. "Neither of 'em have been idle; I know they gotta have some kinda plan, and I'd like to hear it."

No matter how pleasant the recent turns of events have been for Daryl, the tension he feels mirrors what he sees in Faith's shoulders and the way she moves, when she finally enters the room with Vi. She's doesn't seem as pissed off as she was when she left him in the cell, but her shoulders are set, and she's moving like she's been carefully trained.

He realizes then that she must be making a genuine effort to be friendly. He watches her look around the space, and Daryl can see that she's been knocked off kilter a bit. She was probably hoping to get there before they did, for some kind of advantage or peace of mind.

Daryl knows from experience, when Faith is taken by surprise, she ramps up the aggression, if that's even possible. He braces himself for Hurricane Faith.

"Glad we're all here a little early," Rick says, trying to set Faith's mind at ease, reading Daryl's mind again, as usual.

Faith doesn't even look at Daryl, which is disappointing, but exactly what he expected. Instead, she keeps her eyes trained to every one of Rick's moves, as Daryl stands still, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He doesn't take his eyes off her, though, or his mind off the knife on his hip.

Vi hops up to sit on one of the tables, and Rick leans back against another, facing the girls, his gun is in its holster, and his hands loosely folded in his lap. He looks almost harmless, unless you know him.

Daryl thinks Rick is laying the Good Cop routine on a bit thick—especially since he knows Rick's main objective today is to teach Faith that lesson in teamwork that he mentioned. Rick's demeanor seems to be relaxing Faith, though, so Daryl isn't going to complain.

"Thanks for meeting us," Faith says, cutting her eyes to Vi, who's watching her intently. "Vi's got something to say that I think you'll both wanna hear. So if you'll give her a few minutes?"

Faith trails her speech then nods her head toward Vi, and steps two paces to the right to give her the floor. Vi takes a deep breath then looks both men in the eye with a calm and confident smile.

"We've told you that repopulation is one of the key steps to beating the virus," she begins, her voice clinical and somewhat emotionally detached for what Daryl's used to hearing from the young woman. "But first we need to know more about the virus—research it and study it."

Daryl listens to the somewhat benign, if not positive, message coming out of Vi's mouth, with a sense of trepidation. Both girls are way too rehearsed for a run of the mill meeting on basic next steps. Faith still hasn't made eye contact with him, and he knows it's not just because they argued earlier.

"When we first met you all," Vi continues. "We were truly stunned by your tenacity and the strength of your group. For humans… you're amazingly resilient. And, I think— _we_  think Angel will be impressed as well. Especially with Judith."

The baby's name hangs in the air, shifting the tension from where it's stagnated for the past several days to something much more hostile.

Daryl's skin prickles with thoughts of a vampire studying Judith, and he watches Rick slowly stand and unfold his hands, one hovering just next to his revolver. They both advance on Vi's seated form, but before Daryl sees her coming, Faith inserts herself firmly in their path.

"Just hear her out," Faith says, finally looking Daryl in the eye.

She's almost pleading, but every remorseful sentiment he had earlier about making amends flies out the window.

"You're fuckin' crazy if ya think we're gonna hand that baby over to a  _vampire_ ," Daryl says, gripping his hunting knife in his right hand.

"We're not crazy," Faith says, without faltering or flinching. "Just listen. It's what we all want, right? To get to a really safe place? A fresh start?"

Faith has one fist balled in her other palm, popping her knuckles, and her face is calm. She's standing still between Vi and the men. It's clear that Faith means to protect Vi, just as he and Rick will protect Judith the best that they can.

"She better fuckin' start talkin' then, 'cuz what we heard so far ain't encouragin' me to  _listen_ ," Daryl says; Rick hasn't said a word, or taken his eyes off of Vi or his hand off his revolver.

"It'd be super awesome if we could have just one significant conversation without someone drawing a weapon," Vi says, as she drops down from the table and stands to face the men. "But, until then, please don't misunderstand me; I mean Judith no harm and neither will Angel-"

"A fuckin'  _vampire_!" Daryl says, advancing on her again, and is blocked once again by Faith.

Their eyes meet, then, and he can feel her breath on his skin. She hasn't touched him yet, nor has he touched her, but with one slight shift, there could be World War fucking III, and they both know it. Instead, they remain still as Vi begins again.

"We've told you, Angel's on our side," Vi says, trying to reassure them.

"And which side's that, exactly?" Rick asks quietly, with a slow tilt of his head, his voice callous and tight. "The one that wants to rule the world, or the other one that wants to rule the world?"

Daryl eyes Faith, and she is clearly distracted by Rick's tone. He watches Rick shift closer to Vi, and Faith does the same in response. Daryl positions himself for leverage between Rick and Faith.

"Sounds to me like there ain't a whole lotta difference between you and those lawyers," Rick says. "And don't ya think for a  _second_ I'm gonna hand over my daughter for your  _triumph over humanity_  or whatever the hell you were sayin' before."

"We don't want to hurt her," Vi says. "But I've noticed things that are different about her—her resiliency, her excellent health, the fact that she seems happy and thriving under these circumstances."

"We all look after her—so what?" Daryl says, never looking away from Faith.

Faith's eyes soften slightly, and she shakes her head, but she doesn't speak. She's trying to tell Daryl that he's missing the point, but the point isn't clear in the crazy non-plan that Vi is spewing.

"Yes, there's a lot to be said for community," Vi says. "I mean—it takes a village, right? But that's not all there is to it. I think she's different—special. She just might be the key to the triumph  _of_  humanity, not over it."

Daryl and Faith still haven't broken eye contact, but the mood has shifted slightly. Rick and Daryl aren't backing down, but it's obvious that the girls—both of them—are trying to appeal to them for a reason, so the men listen as they've been asked to do.

Daryl watches a myriad of emotions wash over Faith's face—pleading, remorse, hope.

"Judith is the key," Vi speaks calmly to Rick. "We know her history and her father's. What are the odds we'll find that again so soon?"

Rick looks uncomfortable for a second, more than likely thinking about his dead best friend, who slept with his wife, so Daryl mercifully cuts in. "We dunno if Rick's Judith's biological dad."

Faith's eyebrows shoot to the ceiling and she purses her lips. Vi doesn't react, except to answer the concern with a quick solution.

"Then we'll do a paternity test," she says. "With our equipment, it'll take a day."

They're all quiet for a few minutes. Rick drops his head, then looks to Daryl. Daryl drags his eyes from Faith long enough to nod to Rick in reassurance.

"No one wants to harm her," Faith says, bringing Daryl's eyes back to her. "Besides, I won't let it happen."

She silently pleads with Daryl to understand what she's saying. She's saying that no matter what anyone has planned, she'll fight to protect Judith.

 _They have no idea what she'd be sacrificing_ , Vi thinks, stunned by what Faith is clearly offering.

Rick and Vi both eye Faith and Daryl, before Rick quietly clears his throat and nods, acknowledging Faith's statement.

"What if we say no—that you can't experiment on her?" Rick asks, suddenly burning a hole through Vi.

Vi opens her mouth to answer, but Faith answers before she can. "Then we go anyway. No one'll touch her without your consent."

Rick nods slowly and quietly once again before looking up to meet Faith's eyes.

"What kinda experiments?" Rick asks, his voice dropping off slightly, and Vi jumps in with a few small examples. She assures him that nothing they will do will be life threatening in any way, and that most of it will be magically based.

Rick rolls his eyes. "Magic…" he mutters, and starts to pace.

"We've had a protection spell and a glamour on the prison since we've been here," Vi blurts.

Rick stops pacing and eyes the girls warily.

"'Course ya have," Daryl says, half smirking at Faith, letting her know that he heard them planning it days ago.

Faith shakes her head, smirking a little herself.

"I don't want her treated like a lab rat," Rick says.

"She won't be," Faith says.

Faith and Vi both dart their eyes to Rick, then back to Daryl, hoping that this will set their minds at ease.

"No one touches her without me or Daryl present," Rick says, drawing a line in the sand, even though Faith has sworn to protect her. Rick has an idea, based on Vi's reaction to Faith's promise, that it's a bigger deal than Faith is letting on.

"And I want a clear outline of what y'all propose to do," he continues. "What you wanna accomplish, every possible scenario."

"No problem," Vi says, brimming with excitement over the possibilities. "Faith?"

Faith and Daryl both settle and calm a little in the aftermath of another confrontation before Faith takes the floor again.

"Okay—back to square one: basic training," Faith says, and she runs over a schedule she's worked out for the next day.

In no time, they have an actual plan, and everyone seems satisfied with the day's accomplishments, except Faith feels like she still has some unfinished business.

"I'm gonna run down and bug Maggie for a bit," Vi says to Faith. "Wanna come?"

Faith tries to think of something to say that won't sound like she's actively trying to avoid Maggie, when really she just wants to not leave Daryl's side.

"Faith, Daryl—a word?" Rick says, and even though Faith still doesn't really know what to think about Rick, she's grateful that he's given her an excuse to stay near Daryl.

She nods to Vi, and Vi leaves without question, headed in the direction of Maggie and Glenn's cell. Faith arches a brow at Daryl, asking if he knows what's up. Daryl shrugs, non-committal, but having a vague idea of what Rick wants to talk about.

Rick watches them for a beat before he speaks. "I'm not gonna pretend to know exactly what you two've got goin' on-"

Faith and Daryl both jump to interrupt Rick in some kind of defense or denial of their behavior, but he holds up a hand to silence them.

"And I don't really care, to be honest," he says. "But I do care about is this group."

Faith and Daryl look contrite, shooting each other sideways glances. They both care, too, but they are aware that their recent antics could impact everyone, if they don't reel it in a little. They're both emotionally charged and this kind of thing could knock them way off track.

Rick watches them both carefully. He feels a little like the school principal. "Do whatever ya want, as long as it doesn't affect this group again the way it almost did today."

Faith shakes her head and opens her mouth, but Daryl reaches for her wrist and shakes his own head. What stops her from speaking, though, is when she looks at him—the combination of his hand on her skin and his eyes on hers. Everything inside her whirls and spins, until it settles comfortably in her belly.

"Be careful," Rick's voice hums through the sensation vibrating between them. "Be discreet, and please try not to kill each other."

Faith and Daryl nod and try not to show their anxiousness. Daryl's still loosely gripping her wrist as they turn to leave, but Faith remembers something she wants to say to Rick—something that will help them both over the hurdle of her being uncertain whether or not to trust him.

"Hey," she says, touching Daryl's hand lightly. "Can I—join ya in a sec?"

Daryl glances down to where they're connected, then regretfully nods, letting her go.

"Meet ya in yours," he says, indicating that he'll wait for her in her cell.

Faith nods and smiles as her wrist slips from his fingers. Then she turns to Rick, who seems to be expecting what's coming next.

"I just wanna be as transparent as possible," Faith uses the word she's heard Angel use after reading one of his  _How To Be a Great CEO_ books. "We can't do this without full cooperation on all sides.

"Absolutely," Rick says with determination and that patented intensity of his.

"This is seriously dangerous," she continues. "And I know you've all been through some shit, but what we're doing is a whole new ball game, know what I mean? You need to make sure everybody understands that I'm in charge, including yourself."

Rick watches her for a beat, knowing that what she's saying isn't her desire to control as much as it is the desire to know that everyone is safe in her world. He decides that he trusts her—regardless of what he agreed to before or what Daryl says, he trusts her on his own level and of her own merit now.

"Understood," Rick says.

Faith feels a sense of real relief. She can feel the tension between them dissipating. She thinks that if she can get this man to trust her—really trust her—then she can trust him, too.

"I hope ya know, though, that we'll have your back, too," he says, letting her know that what they've been through isn't supernatural with dragons and demons, but that they won't be going fetal in the middle of the battlefield.

She scoffs lightly, not intending to demean what he's saying, but she also has no intention of sticking Maggie's little sister in the middle of an unexpected vamp fight on the road.

"I'm serious," he says. "We may be only human, but we can still have your back."

Faith catches his eyes—those intense and mysterious ice-blue eyes that speak volumes for her to read and learn. Right now, she's beginning to understand the language there; he means what he says. And she's starting to believe it, too.

He continues. "If we're trustin' ya with Judith, the least ya can do is trust us to back ya up, deal?"

Faith feels a grin spread over her face and she extends her hand to shake on it.

"Deal," she says.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.

Faith rounds the corner on her way to her cell and finds Daryl just next to her open door, waiting for her. He's already looking up at her where she's slowed to a stop at the end of the corridor. It's not like she was trying to be stealth, but she's still surprised by what he's able to see and hear.

They're more alike than she gives them credit for, but she's just not used to it yet; they've only known each other a week. So much has happened since she and Vi entered the prison—since they left Robin dead in the woods.

She's always worn her heart on her sleeve, rolling them up to hide them, whenever she felt too exposed. She knows what loyalty is, and she thinks she might know what love is, but she's never really had a family that stuck around long enough or deserved either from her. Watching Daryl with these people has opened her eyes to a whole new way of living.

"Hey," she says, closing the distance between them.

He watches her walk all the way down the hall, her posture straight and bold. She's got a real swagger for a girl, and she doesn't hide that she can carry her own weight and anything else you pile on top of her. He estimates that characteristic has more to do with who she is than it has to do with her being a slayer.

He nods once in a quiet reply.

He doesn't want to fight with her anymore, as much as he likes her rowdy side, but he knows he'll fuck things up if he has to talk about his feelings. He's already told her everything she needs to know—that these people are his family, and he'll do everything necessary to keep them safe. Now he wants her to be part of that family.

"I didn't…" she starts, then shakes her head and rolls her eyes. She doesn't know how to say she's sorry, so she spontaneously exposes a bit of herself as a peace offering. "I'm not very good at this."

Daryl quietly watches her fidget for a few minutes before responding. "At what?" he asks, but he's pretty sure he knows what she means.

"This," she says, waving a hand back and forth between them.

Daryl pulls a small, teasing smile. "I dunno—what I got so far's been good."

Faith grins and relaxes her stance. "You know that's not what I meant," she says, looking down at her feet.

"I know, it's not what ya meant," he says, reaching to push the dark waves that are hiding her face behind her ear and over shoulder. "Not so good at it neither."

Faith looks up at him. "I kinda gathered that."

Daryl nods slowly and both of their faces soften. They don't really need these words; they know that each of them meant everything and nothing that they said, and that none of it matters, anyway.

She leans forward and kisses him. He closes his eyes and grips the back of her head and a handful of hair, then pushes away from the wall, standing up straight and pulling her flush against his body.

"Done talkin'?" he asks, lazily moving his lips down over her jaw.

She tilts her head back, giving him full access to her throat, and huffs a small laugh. "Yeah," she says. "I'm a lot better at this part."

"Mhmm," he mumbles, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth and twisting her hair around his wrist as he turns and backs her into her cell.

There's nothing else for them to do besides delve deeper into whatever it is they're doing. Neither of them can deny the draw—their similarities and differences fitting together like puzzle pieces to make one big, fucked up picture of a couple of people who love fiercely and will fight to the death for it.

Faith thinks the main thing that will keep them together like this is the fact that they have the same goals, but maybe they'd stick together anyway because their chemical makeup demands it. Their fight earlier that day quickly ignited, but it felt hollow afterward, and Faith reminds herself that he isn't the enemy.

Daryl pushes a blissfully calloused hand up the back of her tank top and unfastens her bra, then deftly pulls both garments over her head and tosses them to the floor. Faith pulls away from his hot hands long enough to draw the uniform curtain that Carol hung in everyone's doorway for privacy, then turns back to face Daryl.

He's already thrown his shirt to the side and is working on his boots by the time she gets her hands on his bare skin again, tracing lines and mentally blurring everything she's learned about Daryl into one safe and familiar ball of  _him_.

Once he's kicked his boots out of the way, he grasps a bicep in each one of his hands, fingers wrapping around and squeezing tight enough to make her sigh. She lets her head fall back and she closes her eyes as he hauls her up close to his mouth, and she feels his lips on her collarbone and breasts.

Her hands settle on his chest and they just stand there for a while, his mouth exploring, pulling her nipples between his lips. She brings her head up again to face him and snags his lips with hers.

"Sit down." Her husky voice owns his every move, so he does what she says, and pulls her with him; she lands in a crouch between his knees.

Her bed smells like musk and spice and something vaguely sweet. It drives him crazy that he can't put a name to the sweetness, but he realizes now that there's a lot about Faith he'll never define.

"C'mon up here, girl," he mutters, as he reaches for her hands, or her hair, or anything he can get a handle on to get her closer, but she just laughs and pops the button on his pants.

"Trying to stop me from sucking your cock, D?" she asks, pulling his pants open and looking up at him with a spark of mischief in her eye. "I feel like I gotta seize the day, here, what with you being freshly showered and all."

Her hands roam his torso and just inside his pants, and their eyes dance together. Daryl can't stifle his grin or keep his own hands off of her, but he doesn't stop her, because he hasn't had a blowjob since well before the virus hit. He tilts his head to watch.

Faith holds his gaze and his cock with equal determination as she swirls her tongue around the head. She feels his fingers slip from her skin and watches his eyes close, as he slumps back onto his elbows. She listens to him breathe and groan in response to every slide and flick of her tongue.

She works him hard and fast—just the right pressure and rhythm. It doesn't take long for her to bring him to the edge. In no time he's coming, and he can't even be bothered with embarrassment over how fast because she swallows every drop with a greedy moan, like his cum is the best dessert she's ever had.

"Damn, girl," he mutters, slowly shifting his weight.

He lets her pull his pants the rest of the way off before he reaches out to bring her up onto the bed with him, then slowly works the rest of her clothes off of her. He kisses her everywhere, paying extra attention to her hardened nipples, all while he's slipping his fingers between her wet, lower lips.

"Good?" she breathes out the question, settling on her back beside him, her head on one of his forearms, burrowing into the thin mattress.

She isn't just asking if he liked what she did; she's also asking if he accepts her apology. He does accept it, but now he wants to apologize, too.

"Real good," he answers.

She closes her eyes and spreads her thighs a little wider, wrapping one arm around his neck and using her other hand to guide his where he's working her into a slow and quiet frenzy. She wants to come like this, with his fingers inside her, and then fall asleep for the whole night. _Tomorrow's gonna be a crazy fucking day…_

"Now you be nice an' quiet," he whispers with a smirk and a final kiss to her lips.

He slightly shifts away from her body and her control. He grasps her wrists, pins them to the mattress, then straddles her thighs and squeezes, giving the impression that she can't easily move her legs or her arms. Realistically, no human man can contain her, but she loves giving over control to him.

She grins and groans, writhing beneath him, and he dips his head to take one of her nipples in his mouth. He reminds himself that he can't hurt her, so he squeezes a little harder on her wrists before raking his nails down over her body.

He works his way down between her reopened thighs, pushing them wide with his hands and shoulders. She can't stay still under his lips against her damp skin. It's too hot in the cell, but neither of them wants to leave.

He wraps his fingers around the back of one knee and pushes, kissing and nipping at the inside of her thighs. Faith reaches behind her head and grabs the headboard. They both hear the metal twisting in her grasp.

"What I say 'bout bein' quiet?" he asks, teasing, slipping a finger inside her and twisting, while his other hand clamps tighter around her knee.

Faith makes a strangled sound, not so much caring if anyone hears them, but playing along with Daryl's act. "More," she says, begging quietly, knowing he'll get off on her pleading tone.

He slips another finger inside, then slowly clamps his lips around her clit and pulls. He surges forward from his knees with all of his weight, his shoulders bumping up against her ass and the backs of her thighs. Even though he's almost flat on his stomach, he has enough leverage to pin her beneath him.

Faith doesn't argue with him when he seems to be trying a little harder, or longer, than she had. He's really good at apologizing, anyway, and she loves his weight against her and the obscene noises he's making with his lips and tongue.

It's oppressively hot in the cell, and their bodies are slick with sweat. Daryl slides his tongue and fingers over and inside every place he can reach, until Faith is soaked and muttering nonsense, laughing and crying all the same.

He hums against her wet skin and uses his teeth. The contrast between the soothing vibration and sharp sensation pushes her farther. Then he twists his fingers again, adds a third, curls all three, and she's coming.

"Fuck!" she cries out, arching beneath him, letting his mouth and hands trap her hips in place.

She can hear him humming still, as he works his way back up her body. His hands and mouth wet with sweat and her, everything mixing together to make  _them_. He settles face to face with her, above her, his hips cradled between her thighs, and he slips inside her.

He's so hard and she's still quaking, so his first few thrusts feel rough. She loves it when he's rough.

She catches his eye, as he grabs both of her legs behind her knees to spread her wide. "Eating pussy makes you hard, huh?" she whispers, running her hands over his shoulders and chest, then back up the sides of his straining neck. His answer is a lunge for her throat.

She isn't quiet as she utters sounds of satisfaction from him fucking her so hard and pulling at her neck with his teeth. She touches him everywhere and kisses him when she can reach his skin with her mouth.

Daryl doesn't say much, even when he's fucking, but when he does, he's very succinct. He punctuates each deep thrust with alternating obscenities and terms of endearment, and Faith echoes almost every word when she comes just seconds before he does.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, they're slowly falling into sleep.

"I thought you trusted me," Faith says, not trying to start another fight with him, but knowing they have to be honest, and his instant bristling from her mention of Angel has put her on edge. "He's on our side—promise." She props herself up on one elbow and makes a show of crossing her heart, and Daryl's deep frown lightens.

"I do," he says, pulling her hand away from her heart and twisting their fingers together. "Ain't you I'm worried about."

"But you agreed with Rick," she says, trying a different angle for clarity. "And we'll all be there together."

Daryl nods thoughtfully, gently twisting and sliding their hands and fingers together. "Gotta be cautious, though. Y'all are my family—can't just turn a blind eye, and you know it."

Faith watches him say the words, watches him not even bat an eye, but she's still stunned that he's said them. He's bringing her and Vi into the same fold where Rick and Little Ass Kicker live, where Maggie and Glenn live—all these people.

She realizes that she's stayed this whole time for this very reason. Rick and Daryl, and even Beth, brought her and Vi in early, with open arms. For whatever reason, they trusted her, and that trust is the thing that's always been missing for Faith.

They hold each other's gaze, as they always do. Just being near each other, quiet and calm, does things to her that she can't explain. She feels fuller and brighter when he looks at her this way.

"You and me got the potential to tear each other apart," he says.

Faith knows what he means, because she can still remember wanting to hit him as hard as she could, to hurt him earlier that day, but Daryl doesn't just mean physically.

"I don't want that," she says, bare and honest. In that moment, she realizes she can make a choice; they both can.

He shakes his head, telling her he feels the same way. After a few beats, he slowly pushes a hand into the back of her hair, and asks, "Trust me?" There's sincere curiosity in his voice and his face, because he's just as unused to being trusted as she is, and wonders himself if he can and should be.

She nods in affirmation then pushes him to his back and spins to straddle his hips, running her hands over his ruined skin. He watches her and grips her wrist then pulls her down to kiss her. They take a few seconds to meld together before pulling away again.

"Ya blow my fuckin' mind, girl," he says.

Her grin is satisfied, and maybe a little smug. "Back atcha, baby."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.

The next few days are filled with training, then packing, then shifting vehicles and devising a driving schedule. Faith and Vi are both entirely focused on keeping the group together and safe, while getting to Minnesota as quickly as possible. Rick fully supports the plans they make and promises to keep the lines of communication open amongst the group.

Faith evenly divides the teams, each with ample manpower and strength: Daryl leads the caravan on his Triumph; Glenn, Oscar, and Axel are right behind him; Rick, Vi, Carol, Carl, and Judith are in the second car; and Faith and the Greenes bring up the rear. Even without the need to observe traffic laws, she spreads the thousand-mile trip over two days.

They drive for eight hours, stopping a couple of times for bathroom breaks and driver shifts. They come across several walkers on that first half of the trip, but not en masse, and they easily handle each encounter. Just past nightfall, they're through St. Louis and decide to stop and camp for the night.

"We'll head into the woods to look for shelter," Faith tells Rick. "The map shows a ranger station about two miles that way." She motions east of the road. "But I don't wanna take any chances hauling the whole group down these back roads. Vi and D and me, we'll scope it out first."

All Slayer Recovery team members are given the magic of a supernatural protection spell to use while they're in the field—all they had to do before they left Georgia was recite an easy chant. While it doesn't protect them from the biological anomaly of walkers, it covers up to three miles distance between the people under its initial cast, so Faith decides that Rick's group will be safe for the short time it will take to locate the ranger station.

Since Rick's an expert in walkers, Faith doesn't waste a lot of time telling him what he already knows about locking the car doors and keeping everyone quiet until one of them comes back for them. She turns and heads across the road to where Daryl is digging around in the hatchback of the Hyundai.

"Ready, princess?" Faith asks, getting a raised brow at the pet name from both Glenn and Maggie. Daryl simply nods in answer, like he's totally fine with the slight. He slams the hatchback shut and slings his crossbow over his shoulder, his gaze sliding over Faith's smooth curves, devouring her from head to toe.

"We gonna stand here'n chat, or we gonna find a place to sleep for the night?" Faith smirks in response, as he towers over her, fighting his own smirk. Glenn and Maggie seem confused and slightly uncomfortable with her and Daryl's obvious and aggressive flirtation.

"Vi," Faith calls. "Let's move." Vi jogs over to meet Faith and Daryl, then the three of them say their goodbyes and head into the woods, fast and quiet.

Faith and Vi keep a slow enough pace to not explode Daryl's heart rate, but he's fast and has incredible stamina for a human, so they make it to their destination in just about 15-minutes. Faith is relieved, when she spots the larger than expected ranger station in the distance. It almost looks like a farmhouse.

Then she senses something else unexpected.

"Fuck." She stops dead in her tracks about 20 yards from the building. She instinctively blocks Daryl's path and diverts their progression. Her mind races to try and come up with a plan of action for what they've just stumbled upon as she shoots Vi a look. Her senses stretch to estimate just what they're up against in terms of numbers.

"What?" Daryl asks, breathing heavy, craning his neck, trying to see what he's obviously somehow missed. "Looks like we hit the jackpot wi'this place; wha's the hold up?"

He takes a step to the side and a quick scent of the air surrounding them, detecting a strong animal-like odor. He can't quite put his finger on exactly what animal it is, but he starts to strategize his kill because  _it'd be nice to eat some'n other than crackers'n beans tonight_.

Then Vi places a firm hand to his shoulder, pushing him back behind the tree. "Vamp nest," she whispers tersely.

"Fuck," Faith repeats, closing her eyes, her thoughts spinning. She'd dismissed the possibility of running across a pack of vampires, thinking most had more than likely disbanded, or were battling each other in an effort to increase their potential for fresh blood.

"What the fuck're they doing in a pack?" she wonders aloud, desperate to eliminate them immediately, but knowing the second she or Vi engage, the protection spell will be broken and need to be reactivated.

Vi shakes her head, her eyes searching the area surrounding them. "I don't know, but I'll bet they're hungry." Her worried gaze meets Daryl's, but he doesn't seem as concerned as he is ready for battle.

Faith catches Vi's eye. "Got a stake?" she asks, slinging her crossbow over her shoulder and reaching into the back of her pants where she's secured the stake that Wes brought her when he busted her out of the pen.

Vi nods in answer, reaching for her own weapon. Daryl's senses start pinging from the girls taking action. He's seen both of them fight, hunt, train, and kill; but now he's about to see what a vampire slayer is meant to do. The legend is unfolding right in front of him.

Faith takes a deep breath, bracing herself for some resistance from him. She turns a smirk on him in order to lighten her mood. "Got any wood in there." She nods toward his pack.

Daryl rolls his eyes at her thinly veiled double entendre, then pulls out the wooden bolts he carved and packed just in case. "Way ahead ya," he says.

Faith takes a step closer, inspecting and admiring his handiwork. "Aim for the heart, not the head," she says quietly, watching him load the wooden bolt. "You're not in Kansas anymore, D."

Daryl nods, slowly meeting her gaze. "Missourah," he mutters, his skin tingling from the intense shift in her and Vi's behavior and the most massive rush of adrenaline he's ever had.

He knows Faith isn't going to let him go in there with her and Vi; he can tell from the way they're both blocking his path to the building. He knows it's futile to argue with Faith when she's as set on anything as she is on this. He shrugs and shifts to get a clear view of the door, assessing his options and listening for movement from inside. Then he looks back into Faith's dark honey eyes—desperation and ferocity overshadowing her soft, lush features.

"Bitch, quit talkin'," he says, shifting again, hefting his weapon and realigning his position. "Get in there'n do your job."

She smiles, watching him physically and mentally struggle with being overruled by a couple of  _little girls_ , and relief washes over her that he isn't resisting. She didn't even have to try and convince him.

Daryl's eyes dart to that deeply creasing dimple from her smile. His steel blue and razor-sharp gaze glazes over for a brief second. Then Faith leans in and kisses him quick and hard.

"In and out," she whispers, lingering in his breath's space.

His eyes search hers for a guarantee, and he finds it right where he expected, right where it always is. He nods. "Got your back," he replies, letting her gaze calm him before he turns and readjusts his aim.

Faith and Vi leave him and hop furtively over a downed tree to get to the door to the ranger station. There's a screened-in porch surrounding the front and sides, but the slayers know that the six or eight vamps on the premises are all huddled in the front room, smoking and drinking.

"Hope they saved some for us," Faith quips to Vi, and Vi snorts quietly. They creep onto the porch and stop outside the front door.

Daryl is all eyes and ears in 360-surround, covering the girls' backs. He watches Faith give Vi the signal  _3… 2… 1_ , before Vi kicks the door open and they barrel inside. The next 20-seconds is a flurry of action and sound, then two guys with twisted and disfigured faces stumble out of the building—one from the front porch and one from a side window.

They scurry to their feet, and they're fast, but Daryl has the advantage of surprise. He dusts one of them immediately. By the time he's reloaded and refocused, the second guy is just five feet in front of him. Daryl lets the bolt fly the short distance, and his target explodes, covering him in dust, momentarily disorienting him.

He blinks through the miasmic remains of the demon, muttering to himself, "'S like a fuckin' video game... in 3-D."

He coughs and clears his throat, retrieves the used bolts, then reloads and tentatively advances on the building. He can see and hear the girls moving, shadows mostly, and he hopes the place wasn't so full of those bloodsucking freaks that they're in a tight spot. He quickly scans the woods around them before deciding to head up to the porch.

"D!" Faith calls from inside the building. "You comin'?"

Daryl smiles and takes the first step up to the front door. Then he feels the air shift around him from behind. Before he can act or speak, he's lifted back and off his feet, and there's a sharp, slicing pain in the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

He has no idea what's happening, but his instincts kick in. He knows he needs to break free, and he tries to twist and kick. He can't move, though; he's suspended in the air, wrapped in two arms as strong and unyielding as a set of steel cables. Then he suddenly realizes he can't even call out for help because his breath and voice and blood are being pulled through the throbbing ache in his throat.

He's terrified. He hasn't felt this powerless since he was a child at his father's hands, and the panic overtakes him. In his mind, he's wildly bucking against his attacker, but in reality he's still and silent. His skin is hot and cold at the same time, and his vision is blurred. He thinks he might throw up. He's utterly helpless, useless, dangling two-feet off the ground.

Through a haze of shock, he sees Faith and Vi fly through the door, their stakes poised viscously in their hands. He thinks maybe he can hang on until they get to him, but he can't hear anything or feel anything, and all he can taste and smell is copper and salt.

Faith tackles Daryl and the demon who's tearing into him. They fall to the ground and its teeth are ripped from Daryl's wound. There's blood everywhere—Daryl's blood, spraying her face and chest and hands, as she grapples with the fiend. She violently yanks them apart, pushing Daryl into Vi's arms.

Faith is sobbing and screaming, and praying to fucking God because she  _will not fucking lose him_. She sees Vi wrap her strong hand around Daryl's ruined carotid artery to stop his life from spilling into the dirt. She shrieks so loud and hard she swears there's blood in her own throat, as she rolls the vamp to his back, pins him with one hand, then drives the stake home.

The dust hasn't even settled before Faith is next to Vi and Daryl, running her bloody and muddy hands over his face and neck and chest. "Is he alive?" She's a mess of tears and demands, watching her lover bleed out on the lawn of a Missouri state ranger's station.

Daryl writhes and convulses on the ground under the slayers' hands. His mouth moves open and closed, like he's gasping for air, but he doesn't make a sound. His hands grasp at the air and the dirt and his eyes roll into the back of his head.

Blood seeps through Vi's fingers into Faith's palm, where it lays over the top.

"Faith," Vi says in a calm but urgent voice—the only one that worked when they had to leave Robin dead in the woods. "I need your full focus and strength. Right now. Look at me—take my hand."

Faith doesn't want to take her eyes or hands off Daryl, but she clasps one hand with Vi's and keeps him in her periphery. Vi nods encouragingly then starts to chant. Faith reminds herself to breath and focus and tries not to listen as Daryl's heart slows with every beat, pumping his blood through her and Vi's joined hands.

"Please," she whispers through her tears and tightens her grip on everything, praying and begging.

Vi's voice and cadence speed up and she gets louder. Faith feels their heat and power quickly meld together—shimmering and shining. The wound at Daryl's throat throbs beneath their hands and his body starts to shake. The magic they create grows into a burst of light; then suddenly, everything is dark again.

There's no sound apart from the girls' heavy panting. "Why isn't he breathing?" Faith gasps and frantically listens for a heartbeat.

"He's frozen. For now," Vi says.

Faith stares down at Daryl's still and silent form as Vi explains that she's simply slowed the pace of everything inside him—that soon his cells will break down entirely. Vi takes Faith's hand and places it flat against the skin exposed by the opening of Daryl's shirt, their fingers resting together over his sharp collarbone.

Faith inhales deeply, feeling the warmth and slight tremor of magic wrapped inside his skin and bones.

"This is only temporary," Vi says, releasing Faith's hand and backing up to stand. "I need to get to the others and recast."

"I'll do it here," Faith mutters, letting the heat and vibration from Daryl's chest stabilize her, even as each minute of his existence ticks away before her eyes.

"You have to get him to Angel," Vi says, looking down at the bloody portrait at her feet. "Tonight."

Faith nods, then slowly lifts Daryl from the ground and carries him inside the ranger station, as Vi sprints back to the others.

Faith knows she should start securing the doors and windows, but she spends a good five minutes pacing and watching Daryl lay still and silent on a bench along the wall. He's covered in his own blood—his clothes are soaked with it and it's drying. Faith wishes she had some way to clean him up, but what she really wishes is that she had never brought him here.

She finally decides that pacing and staring and wishing are all futile non-actions, so she starts barricading doors and windows until there's only the main entrance open for the others. Then the cars are arriving.

" _Oh, my god_ ," Carol sobs when she sees Daryl lifelessly draped on a hard wooden bench.

No one's taking it well. Beth is white as a sheet, and her big sister is barely together enough to console her.

Rick crosses the room to meet Faith, looking down somberly at his half-dead Lieutenant. Then his expression turns curious, and Faith realizes that she's pressing her hand over Daryl's chest again. Rick meets her eyes. "What's the plan?"

"Vi'll stay with you—in case there're any more vamps," Faith answers, her voice hoarse from screaming and crying—all seeming like another facet to the nightmare they're in. "I need a driver, and someone to keep an eye on D, while..."

Rick nods. "'Course," he says, he shifts closer to her, keeping his voice quiet. "Glenn and Beth?"

Faith nods, then frowns down at her bloody hand on Daryl's bloody chest. "Maggie's gonna love that," she scoffs. "But it makes the most sense."

"I'll tell 'em," Rick replies.

After Rick's announcement, no one wastes any time in helping shift the contents of the vehicles. Faith walks out of the house with a bottle of Jack, takes a swig, then dumps the rest over the pool of Daryl's blood in the dirt. She watches Glenn throw a couple of bags into the back of the pickup with Daryl's bike as she strikes her Zippo on her denim-clad thigh then tosses it to the ground to burn the scent of blood from their overnight shelter.

"Don't be scared, Bethie," Maggie says, knowing that every bit of magic since the slayers joined their group has freaked Beth out; and judging by the look on her face right then, Daryl in a limbo state wasn't exactly reassuring to her.

Beth nods and kisses her father and sister goodbye before slowly climbing into the cab of truck with Daryl. Vi and Rick move to Maggie's and Hershel's sides, as Maggie quietly tries to hold back tears, watching half of her world prepare to drive away.

"Makes sense to take Glenn and Beth," Rick tells her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Faith can't drive like she is right now'n Glenn's the best. Daryl needs someone like Beth with 'im."

Maggie nods and squeezes her eyes shut tight, hot tears spilling over her cheeks. "They'll watch over each other," she says, reassuring herself as much as she's agreeing with Rick before walking to meet Glenn at the driver's side of the truck. She presses her lips to his with a sound kiss goodbye "Be safe," she says, twisting his t-shirt in her hands.

"We will," Glenn promises. "And we'll see you  _soon_." He holds her face in his hands and kisses her again, slow and soft.

When Maggie turns from Glenn's retreating form, Faith is just a few feet behind her. She's carrying two crossbows, and she's still covered in blood; it's on her clothes and hands and face and in her hair. She looks worn to the bone, too, but she's gripping the side of the truck so hard, she impresses a dent with her thumb.

"Thanks," Faith mutters, not really looking Maggie in the eye. "I'll do my best to keep them safe."

Maggie nods slowly, knowing that the safest place to be is with one of these slayers, but the strongest member of their own group was just gravely wounded under their watch. Maggie doesn't doubt that Faith will do  _her best_ , but no one's best is really good enough anymore.

"I know ya will," Maggie replies. "Y'all watch over each other."

Faith finally meets her eyes. She pulls her wooden stake out her of her waistband again and hands it to Maggie. "Vi might need back up," she says with a shrug. "Works for walkers, too."

Maggie tentatively accepts the gift with a sense of awe. She doesn't know anything more than what she's learned in the last week about slayers, but she can almost  _feel_  the power in that small, sharpened piece of wood.

"We'll see you in Minneapolis," Faith says, realizing this is the longest conversation she's ever had with Maggie and hoping she really does see her there.

Maggie nimbly twirls the stake in her hand like a drumstick, then nods with a smirk and brushes past Faith just before Faith turns and vaults herself into the back of the pickup.

Then Faith shoots one last glance at Rick and Vi before tapping the roof of the truck to let Glenn know she's ready to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End notes: OneLilHopeful is absolutely amazing. Faith standing in the truck bed is dedicated to her.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to moojuicey, onelilhopeful, and einfach_mich for helping me talk through this and get to writing! And to MsKathy for holding my hand and wielding the red pen.


End file.
